


Almost Fatal Hesitation

by JayEz



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Kent has roommates, M/M, OCD, Pining, Slash, Slow Build, Spoilers for all seasons, Unrequited Love, bottom!Kent, deus-ex-Miles, jealous!Kent, matchmaker!Miles, mentions of BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Emerson quite some time to realize he’s falling in love with his DI. What follow are months and months of pining, trying to get over his feelings, trying to find a substitute for Jo…. Falling miserably, of course, since his DI seems to be like a drug, a habit Emerson just cannot kick.<br/>It’s when he has given up all hope that he notices Jo might not be as straight as he used to think.</p><p>(aka Emerson is pining for three seasons and then, intriguing stuff happens....)<br/>Spoilers for all three seasons. Goes AU from there.</p><p>Chinese translation <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/933006/chapters/1815905">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. More than a fast tracker

**Author's Note:**

> I fell in love with unrequited-Kent/Chandler and wanted to give them the happy end both of them deserve. The problem was: We hardly know anything about Kent except that he hates hospitals and he has roommates, so I made it my mission to turn him into a well-rounded character :)  
> That’s why this story follows Emerson through all three seasons and takes it up from there. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this! Feel free to leave kudos or con-crit!
> 
> Chapters 4 and 5 beta'd by Bill - thank you so much! If you spot any other mistakes, especially in the first three chapters, let me know :)

**Prelude – Proud**

A huge weight falls off Emerson’s shoulders when his brother is accepted into Cambridge medical school on full scholar ship. He has always been the brilliant one, the responsible one, six years older than Emerson himself. 

Jacob was the one who held him when he cried as their mother died in the hospital. 

Emerson idolizes his brother, wants to be like him, especially when he sees how proud their father is of Jacob’s accomplishments and how the man never gets that proud look in his eyes when talking to Emerson.

So when they send Jacob off to Cambridge and his father is crying, he’s so proud, Emerson realizes that nothing he does will ever be good enough to compete with Jacob.

That’s the day he decides to join the Met like he always wanted to, no matter what his father would say.

 

**Chapter 1 – More than a fast tracker**

It takes Emerson quite some time until he realizes what’s happening. 

*

He hasn’t been on the team long – just long enough to have a place while still being considered the new kid. It is okay, really. He wears the same clothes as his colleagues, mimics some of their habits, so they never give him too much trouble. 

The first time Emerson sees their new DI, his immediate thought is that the man must have stepped out of a fashion magazine. The edges of his suit could cut glass and the handsome features would make any photographer happy. 

DI Chandler is insecure when they finally meet in the incident room and Emerson knows the feeling, so he is the one to jump up and get the chalk for the man. He is also the last to leave a few minutes later, taking in Chandler’s form once more. He is sure they won’t see the DI again after a day like this. 

But they do. And what an impression he makes – “Use your bins,” Chandler tells them. 

Earlier, Emerson overheard Fitzgerald saying something about OCD and cleanliness like it’s really bad. Yet Emerson does think Chandler has a point. If the team knocked on his door at night, inquiring about a murder, he himself wouldn’t take them seriously. 

If DI Chandler showed up at his door, however, Emerson is sure he would answer any question he raised. 

*

So he goes out and buys a suit and a tie. It feels strange at first but when he sees that the others also changed their clothes, it’s marginally better – even if their ties are atrocious. 

*

Emerson hates hospitals – hated them, in fact, ever since his mother died in one. Of course Chandler doesn’t know that and something about the DI’s tone makes Emerson want to obey, so he does. He even manages to stay quiet about his dislike of the place.

Well, almost. 

*

“I think, on the eighth of September, we will have a murder on Hanbury Street. We need to be there to stop it.”

Chandler is nowhere near as insecure as before. Emerson finds himself nodding in agreement, sending the DI a small but encouraging smile while the others are snorting behind him.

No matter how strongly they disagree, however, they’re all out on that September night, waiting for the killer to strike. 

Emerson is dangling his feet, taking sips from his beer and eating greasy food like Sanders while Chandler is stiffly pacing. 

“You want one, sir?” he asks, not entirely sure why. 

The DI turns, neck tense. “No, thanks.” 

“You should,” Sanders says around a mouth of food. “You look like a copper on a stick.”

Slightly embarrassed, Emerson straightens the fabric over his thighs. “What he means, sir, is that you need to relax. Blend in. Try to make it look like you’re on the lash.” 

When Chandler steps closer and takes a falafel from the box, Emerson is glad that his beer is hiding his smile. 

*

It’s only when Emerson is standing in the suit section of the department store that he realizes what he’s doing. 

It intrigues him a bit, that he has unwittingly decided to buy nicer suits, but he figures he is just going with the flow of his changing work environment. 

The next day, Chandler provides them with “brain food” and it’s so delicious that Emerson makes a mental note to buy whole wheat bread when it’s his turn to go grocery shopping. 

*

The first time he wears the three-piece to work, Sanders calls him out immediately. 

“You look like the boss!”

“No, his suits are hand-made,” Emerson replies, deflecting a bit. It’s not like he’s copying Chandler, he’s merely following the man’s lead. 

Because the man actually knows what he’s doing - at least in Emerson’s opinion - and the least the team can do is give him a chance. 

So Emerson is the one “shush”-ing everyone when that Ripper expert takes the stage. 

*

The suit still feels a bit foreign to him and when Miles invites them to a barbecue, Emerson’s more than ready to slip into his jeans, shirt and Converse combination again. 

“Beer?” Fitzgerald throws in their general direction. 

“Yeah, sure,” the others agree and Emerson opens his mouth to do the same but his mind wanders back to the whole grain bread and the nuts sitting in his flat. He’s never seen Chandler drink. 

“No, thanks,” he says instead, and is glad when no one calls him on it.

*

Stakeouts have the disadvantage of being incredibly boring until something actually happens. 

That’s why Emerson finds himself wondering who exactly their DI is. He never told them anything about his life, his family, why he is here, if he truly is just a “fast tracker” as Miles called him…. 

Well, he could always find out for himself, Emerson muses as he presses his radio button. 

“Quiet here, sir.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Chandler’s answer comes in through the channel. “Kent, only use the radio when something is happening.”

So much for that plan, then. 

*

Going through the CCTV tapes is more complicated that Emerson anticipated, but eventually, everything makes sense and he can present his findings to Chandler. 

The DI leans onto the desk to his right, not into his personal space but close enough that Emerson can feel his presence. 

He quickly focuses on the screens again.

“The shutters here, they lead to an underground car park,” he goes on, “leaving on Finchurch street. We’re getting the tapes from the council.”

Chandler considers the map. “He must have used a vehicle for his getaway. Excellent work.”

The last two words make Emerson look up and he meets Chandler’s sincere blue eyes. He is so surprised by the compliment that he immediately looks away but he can still feel Chandler’s eyes on him when Miles enters the room. 

Chandler leaves while Emerson is developing a huge interest in the computer’s keyboard. 

His brain keeps circling around two thoughts: that Chandler said “excellent work” and…. The DI has very nice eyes. 

Which thought is responsible for the following all-nighter, Emerson isn’t quite sure. 

All he cares about, though, is that upon Chandler’s return, he can provide him with a theory about the potential escape vehicle. 

*

That night he actually makes it home to his shared flat. Yet with nothing to work on, his thoughts travel.

Emerson isn’t above admitting that he finds the DI attractive. Or that it’s exhilaration in its own way when Chandler gives him an approving nod and says, “excellent work”. 

So what? Emerson figures that, being a fast tracker, DI Chandler will be gone after they solve this case anyway. So there’s nothing wrong with looking at him while he still can, is there?

*

The next time he does so, however, Emerson can’t help but notice how tired the DI looks. No surprise there - they’re hitting dead ends everywhere. 

Emerson is carrying an enormous bundle of files while he is filling Miles in on his colleagues’ whereabouts. Ahead of them, the door to Chandler’s office is open and the man is crouched over his desk. 

“The DI seems to be living here at the moment. You think he’s alright?” He isn’t looking at Miles but the DS answers nevertheless. 

“No.” 

With that, Miles is off and Emerson is glad that he makes Chandler leave the office for some much needed food. 

If he hadn’t thought so before, now Emerson would be sure that Chandler has no one waiting for him at home… otherwise, the DI would spend more time there instead of brooding over crime scene photos. 

*

It’s a total coincidence that he ends up sitting next to the DI during the board game on Miles’ birthday party. 

Honestly. 

Well, the important part is that no one noticed how Emerson immediately took a seat next to the man, even if there were plenty of other places available that weren’t located on the floor.

Anyway, Emerson shouldn’t think too much about trivial things like that when there is a murder to be solved… Miles complaining about Buchan is a welcome distraction. 

“He’s trying to save a life! You should have seen him burning his books, he was gutted.” 

“You may have to change your mind about that,” Chandler agrees and Emerson can’t help but glance at the man above him. 

“Irritating, interfering, pompous ch-“

“I would expect you to appreciate the importance of a man’s reputation and what it costs him when he loses it,” Chandler shoots back calmly.

Something about his tone makes Emerson almost sure that the DI knows what he’s talking about and it sends a shiver down his spine. 

Miles doesn’t seem convinced. 

“Buchan’s destroyed a name it’s taken twenty years to build,” Chandler elaborates. “That means something.”

“Yeah, alright. Maybe he didn’t know who he was talking to on that website.”

“He’s an unwitting accomplice,” Emerson speaks up again. He would have gone on, but the DS cuts him off before he has the chance to. 

“Yeah, alright!”

In the silence that follows, Emerson chances another glance at Chandler. There’s a ring on his hand.

He’s noticed it before – not a wedding ring, no engagement ring either. It looks like an heirloom, Emerson concludes. 

He feels an urge to ask the Di about it, but this is neither the time nor place. 

*

The following day passes by in a blur. He remembers everything vividly, the house of the fire, the computer, the photograph, his trip to the hospital, his trip to the flat, the search for an address that leads them to the killer. 

Above all, however, he remembers Chandler’s voice on the phone. Strong, authoritative, but with a slight edge of panic to it. 

It is the voice that makes him go through everything at double speed until he finds the address just in time to safe the woman. 

In the end, though, the Ripper escapes. Emerson is in the hospital’s waiting room when he learns that the reason behind it is that Chandler refused to leave Miles’ side, ensuring his survival. 

Emerson’s chest suddenly tightens as he looks over to where the DI is pacing, waiting for a word from the doctors on his Sergeant’s condition. 

He might have thought Chandler is a fast tracker who wants nothing more than to leave their team and join the Home Office, but he was wrong. 

Chandler is the real deal, a real cop. A great detective. 

He should have noticed in that moment how much trouble he was in. But Emerson is too busy staring at the DI to consider the ramifications.


	2. The real deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The extent of his crush dawns on Emerson during the Kray case.

After a week, the press finally lets go of the Ripper’s escape, but the taunts their DI has to endure go on for much longer. Emerson wants to shout at everyone to shut it, that Chandler is in fact a hero who saved his DS’s life instead of hunting down a killer who has probably committed suicide by now anyway. 

He doesn’t shout, but it’s a close thing. However, he gives everyone who aims a derogative comment about Chandler at him a piece of his mind, which makes him feel marginally better. 

Still, the fuss created by the press serves one purpose: Emerson finally learns some personal details about his DI. 

According to the papers, his father was a highly decorated policeman who spent a large part of his career in the Home Office until he was shot on the job. Chandler was only six years old. The only family he has now is a mother that Emerson has never heard Chandler mention, and none other than Commander Anderson, his uncle. 

That at last explains Miles’ “fast tracker” comment. 

Other than that, there’s nothing and the DI avoids conversation about anything other than work like the plague. He never goes out with them for a drink afterwards and he hardly ever joins them for lunch. 

And every time Emerson tries to engage him in conversation, ask about hobbies, trivial things, Chandler diverts or flees, leaving him staring after him. 

*

Emerson knows he has a slight crush. But it’s a simple crush, it will go away, he tells himself. 

It doesn’t. 

*

Fitzgerald is demoted to PC in the aftermath of the Ripper case and Emerson can’t deny his satisfaction. Especially when, after a rather touching evening at the Police Awards, his replacement arrives. 

Nothing is happening, so Emerson is sharpening his pencils. He saw the way Chandler organizes his desk and decides to give it a try, so he arranges his things symmetrically and lays his hands down. 

He hardly has any space to work now, but they don’t have a case anyway. 

Until they do, and then DC Mansell steps into their office, overly enthusiastic. 

Emerson glances at his DI and is surprised to see him looking back. They share a “What got into him?” look concerning Mansell and the friendliness between him and the DI sends a jolt through Emerson. 

*

When Chandler makes him his second choice when Miles is out sick, Emerson has to physically restrain himself from bouncing happily. 

On the inside, he’s bursting with joy. Which he should probably be concerned about, someone has suffered a serious injury after all, and not even the DI taking him along instead of the three other senior officers available excuses smiling at a man with a knife in his hand. 

*

The full extent of how much he truly wants to impress Chandler dawns on Emerson after the striping. 

*

Suddenly, he is slammed against the wall and a searing pain erupts all over his behind. It hurts too much, he can’t even hope to contain his screams. 

The attackers leave immediately after that. It takes Emerson a long time until he can form coherent thoughts through the fog of pain and by then, someone has already called an ambulance. 

He has never been so grateful for painkillers in his life but when Chandler arrives with Miles in tow, he wishes the doctor had put him out instead. 

He can’t deal with disappointment, not from Chandler. 

Instead, he is at the receiving end of a worried look. When the nurses roll him away, he just barely overhears the DI muttering something to Miles. 

“This is all my fault.”

Something in Emerson’s chest tightens and the sensation shocks him more than the incident. 

*

He has a few hours to contemplate his crush in the hospital. Soon, he wishes he hadn’t started. 

How often is he staring at the DI? Have the others noticed? Has Chandler noticed? Noticed what? That Emerson finds him attractive? That every time the DI praises him, his stomachs leaps? 

Bloody hell. He is in way too deep without even realizing it. What kind of detective does that make him? 

*

His luck doesn’t turn up, either. There is no paper trail he can follow once he’s back, and Fitzgerald’s expression didn’t look promising that there might be one soon. 

Then, the incident room is burgled and he is helpless. Entirely bloody helpless. He’s more ashamed than he was after the striping. 

So he doesn’t say anything and it only goes downhill from there. 

“Put the phone down and pack your things.” Chandler’s voice appears steady but Emerson has been listening to him too intently to miss the slight tremor. 

“Sir?”

“You’re suspended pending an investigation. Go home.”

The tall man turns and makes his way back to his office. The phone almost falls down when Emerson’s mind catches up to what is going on. 

“You think I’m a mole?”

He watches in disbelief as the DI faces him once more, blue eyes clouded with sadness. “Out of everyone I really wish it hadn’t been you.”

It hurts to breathe, that’s all Emerson registers. He has to get out, get out now, so he picks up his crutches and limps out of the office, eyes on the floor, ignoring his colleagues’ looks. He limps until he exits the building and rounds a corner where he finally allows himself to lean back against the wall and breathe. 

He can feel his eyes burning but he fights the tears with all his power. Of course, he fails at that, too. 

*

He returns to an empty flat. He’s still on painkillers so he knows he shouldn’t drink, he really shouldn’t, but then he remembers the look on Chandler’s face, imagines the DI contemplating who the mole could be and concluding that it’s him, it’s Emerson….

He finds cheap whiskey in a kitchen drawer and pours himself a generous amount. 

All this time, all this effort to be the best DC he can possibly be and for what? 

Emerson knocks the glass back. He has to cough violently, but the burning in his throat is a welcome distraction. 

A few shots is all it takes to do him in. He just about manages to find his bed and collapse on top of it. 

Suspended. He has nothing to do tomorrow. And the day after. And he won’t see Chandler’s fair hair and blue eyes and three-piece suits every morning. 

Emerson is glad that he passes out before he has a chance to burst into rather unmanly and pathetic sobs. 

* 

He spends two days moping around the apartment. Then, he can finally walk without the crutches and he goes right back to staring at the ceiling above his bed. 

His flatmates, damn them, know him too well. They can see it’s more than the suspension that’s bringing him down. 

“Alright, Em, three days is the allowed time limit for moping. It’s time to get out!”

“I’m suspended, Val, where do you suggest I go?” He shoots her his most poisonous glare. 

“Out. We’re going to a club, you’re going to dance with some hot guy who’ll blow you in the back room and you’ll feel better afterwards.”

Emerson must have stared at that, if the laugh Valerie gave him in return is any indication. 

In the end, she has to drag him out of bed and force a shirt in his hands but they reach the club a short while later. 

When a tall, blond man buys him a drink, Emerson decides that he can indulge. 

Fantasising about the boss is no crime if said man isn’t your boss at the moment. 

*

The night out helped a bit. Emerson goes to the gym and actually does something useful like cleaning his room the next day. 

He’s in the middle of wiping dust off his DVD collection when his phone rings. The caller ID reads “Ray Miles”. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi Kent,” his DS says on the other end. “Listen, we need you. Can you come to this address at eight?”

Emerson retrieves his notebook and jots down what Miles tells him. He promises to come, then Miles ends the call, leaving Emerson wondering what would await him that night. 

*

When Buchan opens the door, everything falls into place. It comes as no surprise when he sees the rest of the team in the historian’s living room. 

Emerson’s eyes immediately find Chandler’s. The DI’s features are as soft as he remembers, the hair the exact same colour as the guy from last night. 

He swallows and wonders whether him being here means he’s found innocent. 

Commander Anderson explains their predicament and they start conceiving plans. When Buchan and Miles begin to argue, Emerson sets his drink down and makes his escape. He runs into Chandler who is nursing a drink in a chair in the hallway.

The DI looks at him and swallows before speaking. “For a while there, I didn’t trust anyone. I didn’t trust Miles, I didn’t trust the Commander. And I didn’t trust you. I was wrong. I’m sorry.” 

The sincerity in his voice makes Emerson dizzy. There aren’t many DIs who would apologize like this when they only did what they thought was right. 

“I was there when the incident room was burgled,” Emerson hears himself say. He can’t meet those blue eyes and he feels his cheeks heating up. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I couldn’t do anything to stop them. I didn’t want you to know.” The last sentence is barely audible. 

When he dares to look up, Emerson sees Chandler is actually smiling. “Well, from now on leave your ego out of it. All that matters to me is the truth.”

Their gazes hold for a moment, then Emerson nods and casts his eyes down again. He leaves the DI sitting there and returns to his beer, downing the rest in one go. 

Truth. He snorts, more to himself than to anyone else. 

If Emerson were entirely honest, Chandler would have him transferred. 

*

“What happened? Someone hit you, sir?” 

He’d never thought he’d see the moment when DI Chandler is anything but immaculate. Yet there it is, a bruise, and a nasty one at that. 

Secretly Emerson has been hoping that once he realizes that his superior officer is not, in fact, a super hero, that he’s human, that he makes mistakes like the rest of them, his entire problem would simply vanish. 

In reality, Emerson wants to reach out and caress the bruise. And when Miles explains, rather angrily, how Chandler obtained that injury, Emerson is again amazed. Chandler entered a fight, risked being seriously hurt, to obtain a piece of evidence that might – might! – give them everything they’d need. 

Emerson knows he isn’t the bravest officer on the force. He never even fired his gun at anyone. But Chandler, Chandler goes into that bar to look at shoes, fully aware that he isn’t welcome in the slightest. Chandler agrees to a meeting with the Kray brothers, knowing it might be highly dangerous. And, above all, while everyone else shies away and allows corruption to take over, Chandler is the only one to take on the criminal sovereigns of the East End. 

He’s the real deal, a great cop, a brave man and a humble DI. 

And Emerson might have fallen for him. Hard.


	3. Clouding your judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Riley finds out about Emerson's "crush", he starts dating again, desperate to move on and get over his feelings for Jo. Chandler. DI Chandler. Not Jo. 
> 
> (Set during Season 3, spoilers for every episode)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank's for your kudos and comments :) This is still unbeta'd, just saying. 
> 
> Since I did all the transcribing myself, there might be some mistakes, especially when Emerson talks about the evil spirit being a "jinn or an ashwang".... (I have no idea what the second word is supposed to be)  
> So if you notice things that are off, please tell me! If you want to beta this fic entirely, I'd be thrilled! (contact me at: jay_ez@web.de)

Over the next few weeks, Emerson stops ignoring the signs and forces himself to be completely honest. 

_All that matters to me is the truth._

And the truth is: Emerson is in love. It might have started as a simple crush, developed into a kind of hero-worship but that was before he saw how humble and righteous Jo really was. Chandler. DI Chandler. Not Jo. 

Well, therein lies the problem: While Emerson may be honest with his feelings now, he still can’t do anything about them. For one, Jo never expressed interest, neither in men nor women. The DI seems to be married to his job. Which is being Emerson’s superior officer. That wouldn’t stop Emerson from making a move, but he has the distinct feeling that a man who constantly consults the Met’s manuals during an investigation has a certain knack for following rules. 

Bottom line is, Emerson muses, that he needs to fall out of love. Fast. 

So he dates. Or rather, tries to. No one can hold his attention longer than a night or two and by then they seem to think all Emerson wanted was fun and leave. 

That’s why there’s no “plus one” with him to Mansell’s wedding. And Jo is there in another three-piece suit from heaven, looking like a walking wet dream but his body language is tense- he’s clearly uncomfortable and doesn’t participate in the caravan. He doesn’t drink either. 

But Emerson drinks. He needs to get pissed really fast or he might be coherent enough to do something he might regret deeply the next morning. 

At some point he wakes up at a table and thinks Jo is beside him but it’s all a blur. He goes home soon after, glad he made no mistakes, and gets a total of three hours of sleep before his phone rings and informs him of a murder. 

*

Jo can’t have had more sleep, yet he looks as sharp as ever. Emerson sighs inwardly and rubs his tired eyes. He’s not prepared to deal with an attractive DI in the state he’s in. 

“Attention, please.” Jo claps his hands and dives into the details of the killings. 

That is, until Buchan barges into the incident room. Jo spares the man a glance before turning to Emerson and stepping close. 

“Kent, I want you to take the lead on all the family and friends, okay?”

For a moment, it is hard to breathe. “Yes, sir,” he answers eventually.

Bloody hell, this really has to stop. 

*

Hours later, Emerson runs on caffeine and the promise of praise. His natural scrawl wouldn’t do for the white boards, so he takes special care to note his findings in a way that they’re legible. 

He is considering the boards, trying to make connections when a voice pulls him back into the incident room. 

“What have we got?”

“Erm, lots of friends. Hundreds on the social networks, plenty real ones, too,” he explains, looking at Jo whose suit still hasn’t wrinkled. 

“No enemies, though. From what I can gather, Ben Salter is an all-around nice guy. His family is a bit more complicated, though,” he continues and uses the chance to show off the chart of the victim’s family it had taken ages to do right. “His dad John has a family from a previous marriage. They’ve been arguing over money.”

Jo doesn’t miss a beat. “Normal family squabbles or motif?” 

“I don’t know yet, his family’s huge.” Emerson averts his eyes again. 

“Okay,” is all Jo says. He looks tired when Emerson glances up again, but he looks away immediately. 

“Good work.”

Emerson should be embarrassed about how fast he looks up again, and how foolishly he smiles after thanking his DI who’s considering the board a few steps away. 

But there’s no room for his embarrassment, Emerson guesses, and jots down a few thoughts about how to proceed with the victim’s family. 

*

Riley, Mansell and he return late that night, and they’re half-expecting the DI to be gone by now, but there he is, right arm clutching the bin and picking up trash with his left. 

“Do you do this every night, sir?” Emerson asks before he can reign in his curiosity. 

“What? No,” Jo says, not at all defensively, and sets the bin down with an added “of course not.”

They drop the topic in favour of their new suspect then, and even though the “well done” is directed at the three of them, Emerson drives home with a smile on his face that night. 

*

The day after at end of shift, Emerson takes one look at Jo rubbing his eyes and decides that the least he can do is help. So he picks up the bin and starts checking the tables while Mansell and Riley put on their jackets, Mansell saying something about going out to the movies. 

“Oh yeah, what are you watching?”

“We never get to watch the films,” is the DC’s reply before he winks and makes to walk away. 

Great, now Emerson has a vivid mental picture of Mansell and his wife…. 

“I promised the kids to sleep with them tonight, they’re scared of the killer bogeyman,” Riley comments. “What about you, Emerson, night out of town?”

He picks up another piece of crumpled paper. “Oh no, I’m staying in tonight, my flatmates are out.” It’s not a complete lie. They don’t need to know about the porn he is going to enjoy, thinking about any other man than the one in the office behind him. 

“On your own?” Mansell’s eyes widen sarcastically. “Don’t turn the lights out.” Then he “oohhh”s, Riley joining in, and for a moment Emerson fears for the future of the Met as they head out the door, giggling like teenagers. 

“Miles,” he hears Jo say. “Would you like to go out for a drink tonight?” 

Suddenly, Emerson’s throat is very dry. If Miles said yes, they could invite him along. Or would Jo invite only him instead if Miles declined?

“Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t, not with Judy, you know,” the DS explains and out of the corner of his eyes, Emerson sees how Jo’s shoulders slump. 

“Of course, send her my best.” He pats Miles’ arm before he returns to his office. 

“You okay?” 

Miles’ question stops the DI, but the quick “Absolutely” comes a bit too fast in Emerson’s opinion. And his answering “good night” is equally stilted. 

Emerson takes the bin back to the front, shooting his DS an encouraging smile. They’re all worried about Judy, in fact. 

“Good night, Skip.”

“Night.”

Emerson places the bin in its usual place. A look over his shoulder tells him that Miles is almost out the door, so he takes a slightly unsteady step towards Jo’s open office door. 

He knocks to announce his presence. “Can I do anything, sir?”

“There’s no overtime in it for you.” Jo doesn’t look up from the paper he’s sorting with minute precision. 

“Oh, I don’t mind.” He really doesn’t. 

That makes Jo look up and Emerson starts fumbling with his tie to calm his nerves. He really has to get a grip. They’re trying to catch a killer and all he can think about is spending time with his boss, while the victim’s neighbours are sick with worry. 

“Are you alright?” Jo round the desk and Emerson has no idea what to do with his hands, so he fumbles with the door frame. 

“Local people are saying that the killer is some kind of evil spirit. A jinn or an ashwang that can create itself out of darkness.”

“We can’t be irrational.” There’s understanding in Jo’s eyes, but also caution. “We can’t start thinking superstitiously.” 

He nods in tentative agreement. But what if they don’t find a murderer, he wants to ask. What then?

“Look,” Jo begins and grabs his jacket from where it’s hanging on the wall. “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”

Intrigued and a little dizzy from Jo’s proximity, he follows. 

*

_We can’t afford to be wrong about Wilkes._

Jo’s words haunt Emerson all the way to his empty home, where he makes tea and stares into the distance for a long time. 

It’s no special treatment, that Jo took the time to show him the crossroad, Emerson is sure of that. It’s just him, the DI, teaching his DC a valuable lesson about police work. 

It’s as simple and as wonderful as that, that Emerson has a boss who cares and who wants to pass on the knowledge he can. 

But it also ensures that Emerson has no way of keeping his thoughts away from Jo that night. 

*

In the end, it’s a flash of genius that solves the case. Where ever Jo got the ghost idea, it works: They find the killer – and lose him again. 

At least Judy doesn’t have cancer but is with child, so there’s still something to brighten their mood a little bit. 

Jo sends them home while he and Miles head to the morgue to inspect the body and Emerson can’t help but watch Jo leave, his shoulders just the slightest bit slumped. 

They really need to catch the killer alive next time. 

“Emerson? Are you listening?” Riley’s voice almost makes him jump. 

“Of course!” Even to him, it sounds unconvincing. 

The detective smirks and her gaze wanders in the direction that Jo and Miles just disappeared into. When her eyes return to him, her smirk widens. 

“Whatever you say, honey…..” She wraps her scarf around her neck and leaves without another word. 

Damn. 

* 

The moment Riley knows about Emerson’s little crush (at least it must seem like it to her), Mansell knows, too, because of this inexplicable bond the two share. 

So Emerson has to face that fact that it is indeed time to move on. To date someone for real this time, or be doomed to face his colleagues’ taunts until the day he dies. 

Things are quiet after the ghost murders, the press celebrates Jo as the man who captured the invisible killer, and Emerson has regular hours that make nights out with Val and her friends possible. 

That’s where he meets Dan.

Dan is pretty much perfect. He works as a personal trainer, has a biceps that distracts Emerson to a point where it’s embarrassing, he’s adventurous, smart and funny. He likes the same movies Emerson does, they enjoy the same clubs, Dan encourages him to live healthier without being too pushy and he accepts Emerson’s sometimes strange working hours. 

Also, the sex is amazing. 

He looks nothing like Jo and Emerson is weirdly proud of that. A week after they meet it’s clear they have something, and the first thing Emerson does is let something slip with Riley so that the looks she keeps giving him whenever Jo is in the room will eventually stop. 

By the time the christening of Ray’s and Judy’s daughter comes around, Emerson is positive that he has managed to put his unhealthy feelings for Jo behind him. 

It’s a nice party at Miles’ house and he even is allowed to hold the baby for a moment, but babies have never been his strong suit, so when he spots Jo he immediately passes the little girl off. Jo is, after all, her godfather. 

The way Jo’s face lights up when the little one stops squirming the moment she rests against his chest is heart-warming. “She likes me!”

“You’re a natural,” Miles explains and then Jo honest to God kisses the side of the baby’s head and Emerson can feel his legs turn into jelly at the sight. 

He spins around quickly and washes away the tightness in his chest with champagne instead. 

*

Dan is not perfect after all, Emerson finds out soon after the christening. He stops being understanding when it comes to Emerson’s working hours, but Dan himself is gone most evenings teaching clients or whole weekends at some convention or other. 

Despite it all, Emerson hopes they will make it work. He can’t go back to pining after Jo the way he did before. He can’t. 

*

The blonde woman has perfect posture, Emerson notices when he passes the office where she is waiting. Her nails are immaculate, every hair is perfectly arranged. She makes him feel completely uncomfortable and the sooner she is gone, the better in his opinion.

“Sir, you have a DI Norroy here to see you from Richmond.”

Jo doesn’t answer but looks ahead to catch Norroy twisting her foot. 

“Go on,” Miles says and the detectives approach the room. 

They close the door, making it impossible to listen, so Emerson wanders to the water cooler and lures over its edges into Jo’s office. 

It’s only when he feels something cold run over his fingers that he is drawn back to reality. 

“Kent?” Mansell snorts at his clumsiness. “You guppy.”

“What do you think of her, then?” he asks, hoping to sound nonchalant. 

Mansell sips his coffee and considers the blonde for a moment. “Uptight, buttoned down, all repressed, begging for a release. Yeah. I’d tap it.” The detective turns away, Emerson at his heels. 

“Why don’t you make a move?” It’s a completely friendly suggestion. 

“Na, you shouldn’t shag above your ranks. Gets weird.”

Emerson can’t help but smile. “How would you know?”

“There might have been a DCI back in the day,” the man explains with a wink. 

He hears a file drop on Mansell’s desk. “Two peas in a pot, aren’t they?” Riley asks to his left. 

“A pair of DI twins, his and hers.”

With a strange feeling in his chest that Emerson refuses to identify, he returns to his own desk, eyes never leaving Jo’s office windows. 

A few minutes later, Jo opens the door for the fellow DI. Why would he open the door? He’s never seen Jo do that. 

“Good luck,” Norroy says. They shake hands. 

“The torso was your find. I’d appreciate your input.”

The woman smiles. “I’d be happy to help where I can.”

She leaves the office at a firm pace and Emerson hides his frown behind the plastic cup of water. 

“Most blokes, they see a girl they like, they ask for her number. You invite her in for a murder.” Miles voice is soft, yet still audible. 

Emerson swallows hard and watches for Jo’s reaction. 

“Some men can speak to an attractive woman without trying to bed her.” Even from afar, Jo sounds defensive. _Defensive._

“Attractive? Ohhh,” Miles coos and steps out of the office. 

“Oh, shut up,” Jo mumbles and closes the door. 

Emerson feels like someone slapped him. He excuses himself and hurries to the gents’ where he splashes his face with cold water. 

He considers his reflection for a moment. How can he still be jealous? After all this time? He has a boyfriend, a boyfriend who is sexy, who is kind, smart and funny, a boyfriend who is—

\-- not Jo.

*

To make everything worse, Jo pairs him up with Norroy when they’re hunting the fox. She manages two minutes before she brings up Jo and Emerson is sure to make it clear that nothing comes between Jo and Miles. Nothing. 

Norroy can’t do anything without annoying him that day and Emerson doesn’t even try to like her. 

*

It’s late and Jo is still in the office. So are Emerson and Miles, and – of course – Norroy. 

Jo steps in front of the white boards again, gazing at the photos of the body he named Agnes as if the pictures would tell him anything they haven’t known until now. 

He sighs, rubbing his temples and Emerson stifles his impulse to retrieve the tiger balm from Jo’s office and offer it to him. 

Before he can react, however, Norroy is striding over like a predator from where she was sitting. 

Emerson has his back to the DIs all the time. He’s gripping his pen so hard the knuckles are turning white. 

Jo sighs. “I just can’t…”

“I know what you mean,” she says. “After a while, the waiting just seems oppressive. Come on, fresh air.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Jo sounds defeated. Emerson puts the pencil down before he breaks it and witches his monitor off. 

“Kent?” 

He is on his feet immediately, right hand grabbing his jacket. “Yes, sir!”

“If they find anything, will you call me straight away?” Jo asks, hand on the door. 

All the energy leaves Emerson immediately. His “Yes, sir” is barely audible. 

“And get a squad car to take Miles home, I think he’s done for the night.”

Emerson is left to watch them leave and sigh. 

He throws himself back into his desk chair, gripping the phone with a bit more force than necessary. That bloody woman better not try anything….

*

It’s only when he arrives home and finds Dan waiting for him with Chinese food that Emerson remembers he has, in fact, a boyfriend and that Jo is single and allowed to get fresh air with anyone he pleases. 

“I’m sorry, I’m late,” he says and Dan simply shrugs. 

They go up to his apartment and reheat the dishes, eat, start a movie, but the main character looks too much like Jo and Emerson shifts on the bed so his hand is on Dan’s crotch and he keeps massaging until he can feel the hardness pressing against his hand through the fabric. 

When Dan pulls him into his lap, Emerson focuses only on the bulging muscles on his boyfriend, the tone of his skin, the dark curls around his cock and how Dan shouts his name when he comes down his throat and for those minutes at least, Jo is gone from his mind. 

*

“Come on, lad, someone needs to tell him,” Mansell practically begs. 

“And why don’t you? You’re the one who knows about that shop in the first place.”

If Riley and Mansell thought that just because he might have a thing for the boss that he’d want to confess to knowing about a place one could purchase Spanish Fly…. They were wrong. 

“But he’ll think less of me! You’re the diligent DC, nothing could leave a dent in your book!” Mansell persists.

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere. Do it yourself.”

“What about blackmail?” Riley throws in and when Emerson meets her eyes, he knows exactly what it is she’s insinuating. 

“You can’t!”

“We can, honey.” 

In the end, he is the one standing in Jo’s office, fidgeting with his hands and stuttering about Spanish Fly. 

With colleagues like that he really doesn’t need any enemies. 

*

For the first time in his life, Emerson wishes that looks could kill. Norroy not only crashes his meeting with Jo wherein he explains his findings, but she also snatches the documents intended for Jo. 

DI Norroy, bane of his existence. 

Thankfully, Emerson still has Heather Green up his sleeve to impress and provide a potential suspect. 

At the end of his monologue, Jo actually smiles. “Excellent work. This could be our couple.”

Not even the fact that Norroy stays in Jo’s office after he leaves can dampen his mood. 

*

His potential suspect turns out to be just that – potential. Instead, Jo comes up with a truly dazzling theory about multiple personalities. And Riley finds the “Hooded Crow”. 

“It’s a dive and the crowds are pretty edgy, so you have to dress up, but,” Riley stabs him with the club’s post card, “don’t try too hard.”

Emerson merely rolls his eyes. What does she expect? That he turns up all in leather with a collar round his neck? 

On second thought, perhaps he should, just to see their – and Jo’s – reaction. 

In the end, he wears all black and ruffles his hair and Riley gives him an approving nod. 

When he catches sight of Jo, Emerson can’t hold back. “Nice outfit, sir.”

Jo splutters adorably for a moment and looks down at his jeans and the sweater he is wearing over his shirt. His cheeks colour lightly. 

“Well, my wardrobe is rather one-sided.” 

“It’s perfectly fine, sir.” The encouraging smile seems to put the DI somewhat at ease. 

Of course, DI Norroy has to come right that second and ruin a wonderful moment. 

*

The club is indeed a dive, but the music at least is good – in Emerson’s opinion anyway. 

He positions himself at a table from where he has clear view of where Jo is trying and failing to question women. 

To his delight, Norroy is chatting up a tall man rather successfully. He wishes Jo could see it and realize that the blonde isn’t worth it. 

Instead, Mansell, ever the testosterone ridden gentleman, gets into a fight and distracts them all long enough for Norroy to disappear. 

Jo is frantic, they all are, they all lost a co-worker which shouldn’t have happened. When Emerson had wished his looks could kill, he truly hadn’t been that literal. 

Norroy lives and is back with a vengeance too soon for Emerson’s liking. But then, she does the one thing that she shouldn’t have: Pull rank on Miles. 

Emerson hears faint gasps from Riley and Mansell while he can’t contain his smile. That woman just signed her ticket out of the incident room. 

*

His good mood continues throughout the day until he comes home despite the extra hours and despite having had to cancel his date with Dan.

When he enters the kitchen, he finds Val and Dan talking over a cup of tea and immediately knows something’s wrong. 

Dan looks up, his eyes sad. 

“I’ll be in my room,” Val mumbles as she slips from the kitchen. 

They look at each other for a long time before Dan breaks the silence. 

“Tonight was the last straw. You keep cancelling on me.”

“And you on me, too.” 

Dan shrugs. “I suppose.” A beat, then, “I met someone else.”

He narrows his eyes. “When?”

“A few weeks ago. I’d hoped we’d work it out but it’s not working. Sorry, Em.” With that, Dan stands up, pats him on the shoulder and walks out of his life. 

Emerson doesn’t know how long he’s standing in the kitchen, trying to feel hurt or betrayed, until Val emerges from her room and pulls him into a hug. 

He doesn’t cry because it doesn’t hurt, no matter how much Emerson wants it to. 

It’s still all about Jo. 

*

After they catch the killer and find the heads, the case is soon wrapped up and Miles decides they all need to go out for a drink. For once, Jo actually joins them. 

They keep the conversation light and mostly work-related, though Riley announces to the team that Mansell is cheating his way out of his third marriage already. They laugh and tease him, Miles talks about his daughter and Jo leaves soon after that. 

He looks so exhausted that Emerson is surprised he even survived the evening so far. 

The instance the DI is out the door, Riley rounds on him. 

“Now to you. What happened?”

“What do you mean?” He aims for unwitting but probably hits suspicious. 

“Come on, lad, even I can see that something’s happened,” Mansell cuts in and now even Miles looks worried. 

With three detectives starring him down, Emerson crumbles. It was bound to get out sooner or later. 

“Dan and I broke up.”

His confession is followed by a lot of pitying “ooohhh”s and Miles asks why.

“Well, between his schedule and mine we hardly ever saw each other. And I might have had to cancel one or two dates and he did the same… It wasn’t working out.”

Mansell orders a round of shots. “Finding them is easy, keeping them, that’s the problem.”

Emerson chuckles and gratefully downs his tequila. 

*

To avoid falling back into old habits, Emerson hits the clubs as soon as he can. The second week, he meets Pete: tall, dark and handsome. A lawyer, so they bond over criminals and the justice system. 

Drinks turn into dinner which turns into a movie which turns into third-date-sex at his loft. They experiment a lot – Emerson has to resort to long sleeves for a few days after he brought a pair of police issue hand-cuffs from work. Pete owns a whip and gag and makes Emerson come without even touching his cock one night. 

It’s intense, just like their conversations. He tells stories from investigations, careful to leave out enough details that no one can actually guess who he’s talking about, and Pete in turn makes him laugh with court stories. 

Emerson still can’t stop looking at Jo, though. Especially after the time Pete chained him to the wall and had his way with him. 

He can’t help thinking about what Jo would do, how he’d make Emerson beg for release…

The thing is, though, he doesn’t notice it until it’s too late. 

“Could you stop talking about your DI for one minute!” Pete shouts and Emerson knows he’s in trouble. 

“What do you mean?”

Pete snorts and closes the dish washer with a bang. “At first I thought it was adorable, the way you worshipped him. But lately I can’t help but wonder if I’m not simply a substitute for your fantasies about him!”

His mouth is hanging open ungracefully as he gasps at Pete, looking for words, an explanation, something to prove to him that he’s got it wrong – but it’s a lost cause. 

His pause is too long and tells Pete everything he needed to know. 

“Get out.” 

Emerson’s wits return and he hurries into the hallway and slips his jacket on. 

“I’m really sorry.” Then he’s out the door. 

*

Pete is right, Emerson can’t deny it. Jo is like a drug that Emerson can never get away from. 

He’s back right where he started, pining from afar, shooting glances and hoping that neither Riley nor Mansell notice. The latter is too distracted by his divorce anyway.

“You’ve turned the incident room into a drinking den.” Jo sounds appalled. 

“Yeah, good job, I thought,” Miles shoots back and Emerson smiles at the computer he’s manning. 

“I just wanted to thank you, sir, for letting us have this small commiseration.” Mansell sounds way too smug for someone who just lost his third wife in Emerson’s opinion. 

“I was gonna say it’s not every day I get divorced but actually it is.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone who’s right for you,” Jo tries to console. Emerson turns around just enough to see his DI standing next to the detectives, adorably awkward. 

“Finding them is easy. Keeping them ain’t.”

Chuckling, he turns back to the screen but Miles handing over his present draws his attention back. Vintage Playboys - Mansell is delighted. 

Jo doesn’t seem to share his opinion, judging by the look on his face. But Emerson only has a few moments to relish the fact that Jo doesn’t want to see naked women before the computer alerts them to Calvin Mantis’ escape. 

They try to relax after that but just when their shift ends and they all reach for the liquor, Jo’s phone rings. 

*

When they return from the house, the first thing Emerson notices is that Jo has changed his shirt. 

It takes a while until he remembers the OCD but before he can follow that thought, Riley asks about Mansell who’s been awfully quiet ever since the creepy house. 

He learns about Morgan’s involvement while he’s reading the new board, eating divorce party left-overs. Miles returns a little while later. 

“Boss is taking her home, he’ll be back.”

Emerson’s eyes narrow. Why would Jo take the woman home? She had probably asked him to. But why?

Before he knows it, he is out of the incident room. He catches a glimpse of them on the ground floor and follows until they exit the building. 

He can’t hear anything, yet he can see that the brunette is talking. She smiles up at Jo before he opens the car door for her. There’s a faint smile on his lips which annoys Emerson more than he’d like to admit. 

He wills himself to calm down for it’s probably the last time he sees that woman anyway. 

*

The moment Jo steps out from behind the police cars and walks towards Mantis, Emerson experiences for the first time what people mean when they say their heart skips a beat. 

He rushes over to Miles immediately, forcing his expression calmer than he feels. He watches, horrified, as Jo approaches the suspect who holds out his gun. 

But even in his worried state, Emerson can see that the masked man isn’t aiming for Jo nor the police behind him. 

_BANG_. An officer to his right falls down. His reflexes force Emerson to the ground. 

_BANG_. Fighting against his instinct, he stands up and looks though the car window, desperate. 

Jo is still standing, pointing towards the roof. 

They emerge after the officers in body armour while two are dragging the wounded cop away from the cars. 

Emerson can’t help but think that the shot could have hit Jo just as easily. 

His feet carry him forward until he’s crouching next to the suspect. The gun. It looks strange. 

“Sir!”

“Oh my God.”

He glances at the man’s face. It’s not Mantis. 

“His mouth was sewn up.”

“It’s not a real gun. It’s just a toy,” he adds, for the first time in what feels like hours looking directly into Jo’s eyes, wide with shock. “It’s wired to his hand.”

“He’s just a teenager.”

“It’s not Mantis. We shot a victim.” Jo’s eyes widen even more.

Emerson desperately wants to say something to ease Jo’s shock but he can’t think of anything. 

“You were that close to being killed!” Miles snaps instead before storming off. 

They head back to the incident room in silence. 

*

When they get back, Jo immediately disappears. The next time Emerson sees him, he’s freshly shaved and wearing a new shirt. 

*

Morgan Lamb is attacked again. Though instead of becoming a second body, she allegedly fights the killer off and even stabs him in the leg. 

It sounds way too suspicious for Emerson’s liking. She’s making doe-eyes and the worst is – Jo falls for it. 

“There won’t be a third time. I promise.”

They share a look and there’s a moment happening right in front of Emerson and he can’t do a bloody thing about it. 

“Two of the,” Jo starts but tumbles over his words. “Two of the victims were class mates. Steeple Park Primary. Do you have any connection to the school?”

“No.” 

Someone like Mantis doesn’t kill anyone randomly. There has to be something. 

“Did you know Daisy Mantis at all?”

“No. I’ve had nothing to do with Kelvin Mantis or his family outside the lecture theatre.”

Unless… “Was it interesting, studying Mantis?” He can feel Jo’s eyes on him but he doesn’t back down.

“It was fascinating, yeah. He’s a man who appears to function normally, even though he lived within his complex delusion.”

“No one knew what he was thinking.”

“Some people can hide their true intentions very well.” She is meeting his glare defiantly. 

Morgan is silent and a soft rustling of fabric tells him that Jo is looking at him again. 

“What gave you that impression?” 

“You’re being targeted for a reason. Someone you know is capable of murdering a teenage girl, torturing a boy to death and trying to kill you, yet you claim to have no idea who that could be.”

“Well, if I knew, I would tell you!”

“Would you?”

He knows he overstepped. But she’s not as innocent as she looks, Emerson is sure of that. There has to be something. 

Now, there’s stunned silence. Jo’s blue eyes are wide. Emerson can’t stand the look for long, so he nods at them and is out of the room in a heartbeat. 

“Kent, Kent! What the hell was that?” He can hear the anger in Jo’s voice, the disappointment.

What the bloody hell was he thinking in that room? 

“I’m sorry. I just got carried away.”

“Don’t you know the difference between a suspect and a witness?”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” He can hardly meet Jo’s eyes. 

“It’s like everyone is losing their bloody minds…”

Jo storm down the stairs, leaving Emerson to contemplate his actions. 

Something is wrong, he’s sure of that. Or is he? Or did he only turn it into an interrogation because Jo is obviously taken with her? 

No, there’s more to it. 

Back in the incident room, he finds himself a spot next to Miles. 

“If she’s worth risking a second attack, Morgan must be important,” Jo opens. 

“But she has no connection to Mantis-“

“That we know of.“

“Look, if you attack someone twice, it’s personal, you know them.” 

“If killing Morgan’s so important, why isn’t she dead?” Emerson looks from Miles to Jo. 

“She was lucky.”

“Extraordinarily lucky, I’d say. Fighting off two murderous attacks, even managing to stab the killer in the leg even though no knife was found at the scene-“

Jo raises his hands, stopping his rant. “Mantis is linked to two of our victims. The murders are acts of silencing, an act associated with Mantis. He’s the only suspect we have! Does anyone else here have another suspect in mind?” He doesn’t. Neither does anyone else. “A name, a motive, a, a link to the victims? No? Well, let’s work with what we have!”

The door to Jo’s office slams shut. 

Emerson tries to convince himself to dismiss his suspicions as simple jealousy but he fails miserably. What if he dismisses them and it turns out that Morgan was in on it from the start?

So he seeks out Ed in the basement to find anything that could support his theory. Ed isn’t convinced in the slightest. 

“By all means, go out on a limb but it’s a lonely place!” Buchan cautions. 

“I know what I’m doing,” he shoots back and hurries to his desk. 

*

The moment they link Morgan to the inquest and Dave Watney, Emerson knows he’s onto something after all. 

When he pushes her door open, the woman is sitting at the telephone table, talking. 

“Three so far… Hm, they seem to think so,” he can make out before she notices him. “Sorry, do you want something?”

“Who are you talking to?”

She covers the receiver with her hand. “It’s a personal call.”

“Put the phone down. Boss wants to speak to you. Now.”

“Sorry, I gotta go,” Morgan murmurs into the phone before she gets up. 

Who was she talking to? Friend, relative – accomplice? She was talking about the investigation…. 

The realization hits him after he closes the door to Jo’s office behind Morgan. She’s a mole. 

He follows Jo and Morgan back to her room, clutching the file Ed provided him with. 

“It’ll be over soon,” Jo promises and Emerson steels himself for what’s to come. His boss won’t like it at all. 

“Can I talk to you, sir?”

“If you’re quick.”

Emerson follows him down the stairs. “I’m concerned about Morgan Lamb.”

“I know you are. But not dying isn’t exactly proof of complicity.”

“It seems to me that if I were a spree killer on a rampage that I’d need to be one step ahead of the police at all times. The best way to do that would be to have someone on the inside. So Morgan gets attacked but then you take her home. Only that’s no good to her, so she gets attacked again. This time she stays here.” They reach the door leading to the incident room. “She’s free to move around and listen to what’s going on and report back!” The door falls shut behind them. 

“Report to whom?”

“Look, we’ve just accepted her version of events, but what if she’s involved with Luke Watney? What if she agreed with him that the kids in that estate tortured his father to death? She might be on his side all along!”

“You think Morgan is helping Watney to exact revenge?” 

“Indeed. I’ve a precedent.” He raises the file but Jo doesn’t take it, so he explains the case instead as quickly as he can. “She’d do anything for him!” he concludes, agitated. 

“I think you’re wrong.” Without a beat, Jo dismisses the idea and Emerson can feel his anger rising. 

“You’re making a mistake!”

Jo sighs, starting to move towards the room. 

“You can’t see it because you don’t want to!” Jo’s still not stopping. In a moment, he’ll be back with the rest of the team. “Because you’re clearly attracted to her!”

When he realized what he’s said, the words are out of his mouth already and Jo is back in front of him, outraged. 

“What did you say? What have you got against Morgan? You’ve obviously got a problem with her – what is it?”

“Just a feeling,” he begins, conviction leaving him. Another detective brushes past him and saves him from further explanations. 

Jo turns around so Emerson can see his shoulders tense. The man sighs and snaps something on his wrist, some sort of band, before he faces Kent again, looking slightly calmer. 

“I’m going to assume that your feelings are down to the fact that you’ve been on duty for over thirty-six hours. Fatigue is clouding your judgement.”

With that, Jo storms into the incident room. Emerson’s “Yes, sir” goes unheard in the corridor. 

*

When they find out Luke Watney acted alone and that Mantis had nothing to do with any of it, Emerson wants to kick himself as hard as he can. 

How could he have been so stupid? He acted like a hormonal teenager, jealous of the witness that had caught Jo’s attention. 

After forty-eight hours on the job, sleep refuses to come to him. He has allowed his emotions to run away with him. How unprofessional of him. He is better than this! He isn’t the bad cop who accuses anyone he comes across. 

His feelings don’t matter. Not on the job and certainly not to Jo. He doesn’t feel the same way, he has a connection with Morgan and not with Emerson, he drove her home and comforted her. 

Emerson doesn’t stand a chance. He’s nothing more than a colleague to Jo. 

Reality hits him like a bucket of ice water: He stands no chance. This will only ever be unrequited, so he has to stop hoping for more. 

That night, Emerson finally gives up. 

*

The next day, they’re tying up loose ends. Mantis is on his way “back to Bedlam” like Mansell rightly put it, and they’re finally getting around to the divorce party. 

Emerson is glad for every drop of liquor but Jo stops him.

“Not until you’ve spoken to Morgan. I think you owe her an apology.”

His “Yes, sir” is heartfelt. 

*

“Morgan?” he asks when he finds her on the phone again. 

“I have to go. I’ll give you a ring later, Mum. Please don’t worry.”

Her mother, of course. She was calling her mother. 

“I wanted to apologize to you.”

“Why?” Morgan seems genuinely intrigued. 

“I shouldn’t have been so harsh on you in your interview. I shouldn’t have spied on you. I guess being the bad cop isn’t really me.”

She considers him for a long moment. “Perhaps it’s more you than you think.”

She lets her comment linger, doesn’t explain it, doesn’t say she accepts the apology but Emerson figures he has done his part. 

Her words still haunt him when he passes Mrs Watney outside. And if he hadn’t been so immersed in his own problems and paid more attention, he’d have remembered that Luke’s mother knew about his son’s plans and that Morgan had been targeted twice already. 

He’d have gone back and kept an eye on the lady instead of enjoying a beer with the others. 

A dark sense of foreboding overcomes him the second Jo hurries towards the door, the rest of his team at his heels. 

It takes a moment to fight through the crowd that has gathered in front of the room but then he’s inside, second to Jo, and sees for himself how Morgan is sprawled on the floor, while Mrs Watney is kicking and screaming in an officer’s hold. 

He barely registers Mansell supporting Ed, his attention focused on Jo instead. His face is a canvas of emotions that pass in quick succession until it’s only shock and he can’t take it anymore. He flees the room. 

Jo follows moments later, shell shocked and distant from the world around him. 

Emerson wants to follow him, apologise, make everything better but he doesn’t know how, so he can only look after Jo as he disappears into the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 is when the real fun - and the AU - starts... I can promise that Emerson will learn that Jo is not as straight as he used to believe :)
> 
> Update will follow within the week!
> 
> If you liked the story so far, I'd be thrilled for receiving a kudo or a comment :)


	4. Breaking the habit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Morgan's death, Emerson notices Jo's OCD getting worse and decides to find a way to help his DI. When unfortunate events lead to Emerson being shirtless when Jo walks in, the DC doesn't believe his eyes when he catches Jo looking.  
> So does he have a chance after all?
> 
> Also, there's a big murder case. In London's BDSM scene. Yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally found a beta :) Thanks to Bill for doing this! 
> 
> So here goes my version of season 4. I came up with it immediately after I watched seasons 1, 2 and 3, that's why this is a rather optimistic AU, judging by some of the spoilers I've been introduced to the past two weeks.  
> I won't let the season 4 spoilers change anything with my AU, though. Hope you enjoy it nonetheless! 
> 
> Also, chapters 4 and 5 are basically case fics; which I usually don't like to read that much, but out of some reason, my muse found suitable for this story. Let me know if it's interesting :)

They all take some time off before they return to work after Morgan’s death. Emerson uses the time to drink and go out, trying to find someone to fill the hole Jo left, but no one measures up.

A week later, they’re back. Jo’s suit is immaculate, his hair freshly cut, his hands recently manicured but there’s a kind of weariness in his eyes that tells the tale of what he’s been going through.

Things are awkward between him and Jo and for a moment, Emerson fears the DI is blaming him for Morgan’s death. He can’t deny he doesn’t feel partly responsible.

The cases that follow are easy, as if some higher power wants for Jo to find his way back into the game gradually.

It’s when the entire team is called to a crime scene that he sees Jo cleaning his hands with a tissue for the first time. Emerson keeps a closer eye on his boss over the course of the investigation and notices small details that haven’t been present before Morgan’s death.

Jo always cleans his hands after opening a door.

Jo changes his shirt every time they return from a crime scene.

If the investigation takes longer, Jo shaves in the evening at the station when he can.

Then, there’s the threat. Their killer has already murdered two people and now he threatens to kill a third the next day and they have no theory and no suspect.

It’s very late that evening when Jo sends them all home for a few hours’ sleep to clear their heads. Emerson hurries to the bathroom around the corner from their desks first and is about to return to the incident room for his jacket when he notices the lights flicker.

Initially he suspects a malfunction and wants to check. He rounds the corner but then sees Jo in the door to his office.

Emerson draws back immediately, hidden by the wall yet still able to see. It’s really Jo, continuously switching the lights on and off. Emerson tries to count how often he does it but he doesn’t know how long Jo’s been standing there.

Still, the number is above 100.

A strangled cry of frustration tells him that Jo has stopped. Emerson slips into the shadows as his DI leaves the incident room, slamming the door shut behind him.

For a long time, all he does is stare after him.

Then, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place – the washing, the shaving, changing his shirts, the thing just now…. Jo’s OCD is getting worse.

Emerson has no idea about the illness but it sounds logical that a trauma like losing someone close could trigger more severe episodes.

He hurries to his scooter and back at the flat, he powers up his computer and starts his research.

In the end, he’s exhausted. He still has no idea about their case but he has found a way to make amends: By helping him with his OCD.

*

First, however, their mission is to find the killer. It’s a last minute rescue but it is a rescue, the victim is alive and they can put cuffs on the killer instead of stuffing him into a body bag.

*

All he can do, really, are small things. Emerson is careful to always be the first at the door, which he then holds open for Jo and the others. He starts carrying a tissue in case Jo loses his or his is too dirty.

When Mansell or Riley ask him where they can find Jo and Emerson knows he’s in the bathroom changing or shaving, Emerson opts to feign ignorance.

When one day he sees Jo counting what looks like piles of different coloured pins through the office windows and Ed is on his way to see the boss, Emerson stalls the historian until he sees that Jo is putting the pins away.

The others don’t seem to notice, only Miles throws him one or two strange looks.

*

They’re investigating another murder and Emerson accompanies Jo to the victim’s flat.

It’s a good thing he did, since the victim was messy. He can see boxes of take-out littering the floor of the living room, pizza boxes and open beer bottles on the coffee table. The kitchen would have to be decontaminated for the next owner and the bedroom sports a layer of dirty clothes.

Next to him, Jo is starting to shake.

“What exactly are we looking for, sir?” he asks and pulls his gloves on.

Jo swallows and closes his eyes, snapping his rubber band before doing the same. “Information about her friends, a computer, an address book, anything.”

Emerson offers to dive through the take-out and pizza boxes first until he discovers the laptop while Jo is in the bedroom looking for an address book.

“I have her computer but there’s no sign of her mobile phone.”

“The murderer probably took it after he killed her,” Jo mutters as he holds a pair of jeans at arm’s length.

The tension in Jo’s shoulders is almost unbearable to see, so Emerson daringly steps around the DI and frees the night stand of several layers of fabric. There’s no address book either but Emerson does find a diary.

“Good work,” Jo forces out.

“Why don’t you step outside and call for backup, sir? We need more people to sort through this mess. I can see if I can find other diaries.”

For the first time in weeks, he sees Jo smile.

Fifteen minutes later Emerson steps out of the house with three diaries and the laptop to find Jo standing on the pavement, wiping his hands frantically on the edges of the tissue.

Emerson walks up next to him, reaches into his jacket pocket and retrieves his tissue, offering it wordlessly to the DI.

Jo stares at it, then at Emerson, then at the tissue again.

“It’s fresh,” he explains. His voice seems to draw Jo out of his trance.

Tentatively, he takes it and starts wiping his hands. “Thank you.”

“No problem, sir.”

*

Over the next few days, Emerson is at the receiving end of several intrigued looks that Jo gives him whenever he opens doors or picks up trash although Jo is closer to it.

His secret mission is probably not so secret any more but as long as Jo doesn’t tell him to stop, Emerson will keep it up. Jo is minutely calmer around the office and he doesn’t use as much tiger balm as before so that means the headaches are getting less frequent.

Something warm settles in Emerson’s stomach at the realisation.

*

Over the next few weeks, Emerson notices minute changes in Jo’s OCD. The times he cleans his hands decrease a little, he hardly ever shaves at the station anymore and the pins stay in their box where they belong.

He still changes his shirt every time they return form a crime scene but all things considered Emerson is happy for his DI.

His feelings are still there, though, but Emerson can hide them better. He’s still eager and diligent, the first to work over-time when necessary, and every “excellent work” Jo sends his way makes his heart jump embarrassingly.

But he learned to live with the feelings since Morgan died and he doesn’t try to find a new boyfriend for he knows that he will only end up hurting the man. Instead, he parties with his flatmates, enjoys the occasional one-night-stand and secretly pines for his boss who will never reciprocate his feelings.

*

“Can you see anything?” Mansell calls from the ground.

“Nothing substantial,” Emerson shouts back from where he is looking for evidence in the old warehouse by the water while the rest are inspecting the ground.

They have a body but they don’t have the intestines.

Suddenly, Emerson feels what seems to be a wooden box on top of the shelf above him. He grabs it and pulls tentatively.

The next thing he knows, his shirt is ruined and three boxes are spilling their contents on the floor.

“Ah, you found something then,” Riley smirks as she approaches the mess on the floor.

Emerson looks down his torso and immediately stops breathing through his nose. The intestines must be at least a few days old. Llewellyn looks over and doesn’t bat an eye.

“You’re going straight to forensics, you’re evidence,” she tells him and Miles’, Riley’s and Mansell’s laughter follows him to the squad car.

Outside, Jo almost jumps back when he sees him so Emerson keeps his distance.

“We found the intestines. Or rather they found me. Anyway, Llewellyn has me return to forensics, I’m evidence,” he explains.

Jo nods, tearing his eyes from the splotches on his shirt eventually.

“I… I have another shirt at the office. I’ll bring it by forensics when we get back, alright?”

“Thank you, sir. A shirt beats anything from the police drawers,” he replies, suddenly excited.

It takes an eternity for Lizzie to process him so when he’s finally allowed to wash the gore and blood that have soaked through his shirt to his chest, it’s also time for the team to return from the crime scene.

Emerson takes his time cleaning up, scrubbing his chest in the hope that at any moment, Jo will enter. If he actually brings the shirt by himself.

Emerson feels a little creepy, but his curiosity is bigger than his sense of propriety right now. He just wants to see Jo’s reaction.

He’s checking his back and front in the mirror, wash cloth still in hand, when the door opens and the DI enters.

Jo freezes when he sees Emerson’s half naked.

“Sir, perfect timing, I’m just about finished.” He puts the wash cloth into the sink and grabs the towel, rubbing his chest and abs with half an eye on Jo at the door.

Emerson can’t believe when the DI’s eyes follow he towel’s movement for a second until the DI catches himself and focuses his attention on his face again.

But those few seconds are all Emerson needs.

“I brought you the shirt, as promised,” Jo explains as he holds out the folded white fabric.

“That’s very nice of you, sir. I’ll get it back to you as soon as possible.”

“No rush, I have several.”

Emerson smiles as he throws the shirt around his shoulders and starts buttoning it. Jo’s eyes travel down to his hands, so Emerson looks down as well for fear Jo might bolt if he is caught staring.

The shirt is soft against his skin. It feels expensive and Emerson decides to better have it dry-cleaned than throw it into their washing machine. It’s a bit too long for him but his hands quickly reach for his fly so he can tuck it into his pants.

“You’ll find us in the incident room.” Jo’s voice is a few notes higher than usual and Emerson looks up just in time to nod at the DI who’s already halfway out the door.

Emerson stares after him, processing what just happened.

Jo was staring at him. At his body. And when he reached for his fly, he bolted.

Considering the evidence, there’s only one possible conclusion: Joseph Chandler is not as straight as Emerson used to think.

The spark of hope ignites before Emerson can shut it down and he feels his phantasies returning with full force.

*

The case is resolved quickly – a bunch of teenagers read a few books too many, so when one of them killed a homeless woman in drunken haze, they decided to try a spell. They gutted the victim and drew the pentagram but – surprise – it didn’t work so they hid both the body and the intestines.

Emerson shudders when he considers that these kids are supposed to be England’s future.

*

Two weeks pass after the shirt incident. Emerson returns the dry cleaned item during the second week, and he’s sure there’s a faint blush colouring Jo’s cheeks when he accepts it.

The problem now is that Emerson has no idea what to do with his new found information. Jo might be bisexual but he read during his research that obsessive thoughts in OCD patients sometimes centre on sexual identity. What if Jo doesn’t let himself follow these thoughts? Or what if a romance in the workplace is just taboo for him?

Emerson is at a loss.

Even more so when his Scooter breaks down and he has no choice but to take the tube to work.

That night he gathers the rubbish and sits back down at his desk since he still has a few more minutes until he has to get his train.

“Kent? Aren’t you going home?” Jo is already wearing his jacket.

“My scooter is in the shop so I’m taking the train. I still have a few more minutes.”

Jo considers him a second. “Where do you have to go?”

“Tarling Street, sir.”

The DI looks indecisive for a moment until he smiles tentatively. “It’s actually on my way. Come on, I’ll give you a lift.”

“Oh, sir, it’s really not necessary.”

“I know. Come on.” Jo motions for him to follow and walks off, leaving Emerson no choice but to stand up and hide his foolish grin.  
They drive in comfortable silence during which Emerson admires how clean Jo’s Landrover is. The DI drives him straight to his front door.

“Thank you, sir, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. How long’s your scooter in the shop?”

“Saturday morning, they said.”

“So why don’t I pick you up tomorrow morning? The tube must be hell that time of day.”

Emerson can’t deny that. “That would be lovely.”

Jo returns his smile and with a nod, Emerson steps out of the car.

*

True to his word, Jo picks him up the next morning. And takes him back home when their shift ends. He even promises to repeat that until Friday.

“It’s no trouble, honestly!”

So Emerson accepts and starts wondering how he can thank the DI in a way that’s both personal and innocuous.

“Guys, Friday night I need you all to clear the house, can you do that for me?”

Val narrows her eyes. “Why, pray tell, should we?”

“You know that’s date night, Em,” Colin objects.

“Then take your girlfriend to the cinema, please, I’ll even give you the money.”

“You joking?”

Emerson shakes his head and fishes a few bills from his wallet that he puts in Colin’s hands. “Just promise me you’ll be gone between five-thirty and ten minimum, alright?”

Colin nods while Valerie and Sharon look suspicious. “Who’s coming over?”

Emerson shrugs helplessly. “Maybe no one. But Jo’s been giving me rides to and from work, so on Friday I want to invite him in for a drink as a thank you and I need you all gone. And I’m going to clean tomorrow and you better not make a mess until Friday night, you hear me?”

Sharon chuckles. “How many years have you been pining now, Em?”

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously! It’s adorable…” She scratches her head, apparently thoughtful. “I’ll tell you what, Val and I are going to clear the field and I’ll make something for lunch that you boys can heat up for dinner, how’s that sound? You can tell him I always cook so much and that we’d have to throw it away if nobody eats it.”

Sometimes he wonders why Sharon is studying to be a teacher and doesn’t simply start a dating service. Most of the guys he ends up with he met through Sharon’s help, after all, and she set up Colin and his gal, too.

*

On Friday, Emerson is a bundle of nerves. He drops files, breaks pencils and forgets the milk in Riley’s coffee.

“What’s got you all jumpy today?” Mansell asks and pats him on the back with a laugh.

“I just get my scooter back tomorrow and it’s probably going to cost a fortune…” is his lame excuse but they seem to buy it.

During the ride home, Emerson still hasn’t decided when to ask and they reach his street faster than he’d have liked.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“What’s your opinion on jambalaya?”

The question catches Jo off guard and he chuckles. “Favourable. Why?”

“The thing is, sir, my flatmate makes amazing jambalaya every other Friday and leaves the rest for me but it’s always enough to feed an army. So, if you’re hungry, I’d be happy to offer you a plate or two. And a drink, perhaps? It’s the least I can do to thank you for driving me all week.”

Jo slows down as they are approaching the house.

“Well…. I guess. If you insist?” The DI smiles shyly.

“I do, in fact,” Emerson says and he feels rather than sees how Jo pulls into a parking spot while all Emerson can do is look at Jo’s smile.

When they get into the flat, everything is as spotlessly clean as Emerson left it this morning. He sees Jo’s eyes darting around the hallway and then the kitchen and the living room, shoulders relaxing visibly.

“It’s rather tidy for a shared flat,” Jo comments.

“Well, your lessons about cleanliness and order really rubbed of, sir,” he explains vaguely. They really don’t have the messiest flat but compared to what Jo is comfortable in it still doesn’t cut it. But Jo doesn’t need to know about the three hours’ worth of cleaning that Emerson did last night.

“In the office, yes, but at home? That’s a pleasant surprise.”

“Please, sit. What would you like to drink? Tea? I’d offer you liquor but all Colin ever buys is cheap vodka that’s not healthy for anyone except an Irish guy….”

“No, tea is fine, thank you.”

Emerson switches the kettle on and lets Jo chose the blend, then starts reheating the jambalaya in the pot Sharon left it in.

“Can I help? Set the table, for example?” Jo’s voice is closer than imagined – the DI is standing again, probably feeling useless just sitting there.

“Technically, you’re the guest,” he says, but then points Jo to the right cupboards anyway.

He even finds their napkins and when Emerson sets the mugs down is met with the most perfectly set table he has ever seen, all symmetrical and straight lines.

“You’re really good at that,” he jokes lightly and Jo’s cheeks colour faintly.

“Well….” Is all he says but Emerson gets it. It comes with the OCD, he fathoms.

So he nods and returns to the hearth, stirring the jambalaya.

“It smells delicious,” Jo comments. He’s leaning against the fridge, mug in hand, taking tentative sips.

“Sharon is a great cook. Her kindergarten kids are going to love her.”

In his head, Emerson is still nervous. Having Jo in his kitchen is wonderful and he wants the man to stay with him forever.

“How many people do you live with?”

“Three: Sharon, Valerie and Colin. We’ve shared this flat ever since I started at the Met.”

Another sip. Jo opens his mouth and closes it again before he decides to ask. “Why do you still live here? I mean, you could afford an apartment by now, couldn’t you?”

He is neither surprised nor offended; he gets that a lot after all. “I could but I don’t want to. Val and I have been best friends since school and the others have become close, too. If you see past the problem that you’re almost never alone, it’s very nice.”

Jo nods and Emerson wonders if it’s okay to ask him a personal question in turn.

“I guess we’re just lucky that we found flatmates we get along with. Have you ever flat shared?”

Jo looks up and shakes his head. “It was never an option.”

Emerson doesn’t probe deeper, no matter how much he wants to. If Jo wants to go on, he will.

“Did you always want to be a detective?” Jo’s question comes out of nowhere.

“Er-“

“Sorry, it’s not my place, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s okay. Yes, I’ve always wanted to be one. I knew that I could do it, too. It’s... well, the thing is, my big brother always was the smart one. He went to medical school on a full scholar ship and now he’s a world-class surgeon. Nothing I could have done would ever measure up so I did what I’ve always wanted to do and joined the Met.”

A smile tucks at the corners of Jo’s lips. “I can’t do anything else either.”

The food is finally hot enough, so they sit down and start eating. Jo is immediately in love with Sharon’s cooking.

“We always buy the groceries and all she has to do is cook,” Emerson admits.

“Can’t you cook?”

“Well, I can manage cold things and pasta but anything more complicated ends in disaster. Like any kind of cake.”

Jo’s face warms immediately. “My mother taught me how to cook and bake.”

Emerson has a vision of a much younger Jo, fussing around his mother’s kitchen, covered in flour. “That must have been nice.”

“It was.”

“My mother died before she could teach me.” The words are out before Emerson can stop them. What is he doing? Jo doesn’t need to know his life history. Even though Emerson would love to hear Jo’s.

“I’m sorry.” He sounds sincere as only someone who’s lost a parent himself is capable of.

“It was a long time ago. I got over it.”

Jo hesitates, chewing another bite of jambalaya, before he whispers, “My father died when I was six. It… changed me. It’s good to see that losing a parent is not so hard on everyone.”

That Jo would tell him something so personal melts something inside Emerson. Is the change he is referring to his OCD?

“It’s hard on everyone. I still have problems when I enter a hospital. I fear it’ll never go away.” After a brief pause, he adds: “My mother died of cancer. She spent the last four weeks in a hospital and we visited her every day. I was nine.”

Jo nods and finishes his plate.

“Would you like more? There’s plenty.”

“If you’re having some?”

“Sure.”

The conversation returns to happier topics after that, like how big Jo’s goddaughter is getting and whether or not Mansell’s newest flame will be getting a ring soon.

The plates are empty but there’s still tea and Emerson watches in fascination how Jo gets more and more tense, eyes darting to the dishes in front of him. He clearly doesn’t feel he has a right to say anything, so Emerson gathers all his courage and speaks up.

“I can wash the dishes, if they’re making you uncomfortable?”

The deer-in-the-headlights look he gets from Jo in return is almost comical if it didn’t attest to how hard living with OCD must be.

“No, Kent, it’s fine.”

“Sir, you’re fidgeting. It’s alright, I have to do them tonight anyway or I’ll get in trouble with my flatmates.” He smiles as warmly as he can and gathers their plates.

The sink is almost full when Jo moves again. The DI watches Emerson clean the plates and put them in the rack next to the sink to dry off.

Jo hands him the empty mugs after that.

“Thank you.” Emerson accepts them and cleans them as well. He’s drying his hands when Jo finally meets his eyes again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… I can’t help it.”

Emerson’s first impulse is to hug him, but he figures that might not be the best idea.

“I know. It’s not your fault.”

Jo’s expression changes from pained embarrassment to incredulous wonder as he tries to figure Emerson’s answer out. “How-“ he begins but starts over. “Do you know someone who…?”

He weighs his answer carefully. “Yes, my boss. So I did some research because I didn’t want to cause him any problems.”

Jo swallows. “That… That means a lot to me. Thank you.”

Emerson smiles in return.

“And thank you for the meal. Give my compliments to Sharon, it was really delicious.”

“I will.”

When he closes the door after Jo, Emerson rests his back against the wood and breathes for a while.

If it were possible, he’d be even more in love after that dinner. He wants to know more about Jo, wants to know everything. What’s his favourite food? Does he ever drink anything other than green tea? What kind of music does he listen to? What’s his flat like? Does he have any family left? Favourite movie? What’s it like living with OCD? Can Emerson do anything else to help?

With a sigh, Emerson starts looking for Colin’s vodka and something to mix it with.

*

The following week, Emerson believes he is imagining things, things like Jo looking at him more often than usual, even smiling a few times.

The atmosphere between them is comfortable, better than it has ever been and at least he’s sure he’s not imagining that.

He’s almost happy for the call on Friday at six in the morning that they have a new case so he can finally take his mind off things.

*

He reaches the address in Soho an hour later, the place already swarming with policemen.

He finds the victim in a cosy apartment where Miles, Jo and Llewellyn are already investigating the body of a lean, handsome young man. His white t-shirt and blue jeans are soaked with blood from the stab wounds to his torso. His wrists bear angry red marks.

“Morning,” he announces his arrival. Miles and Jo mirror him, the latter fully alert and only slightly disgusted by the gory scene.

The victim’s name is Nathan Finnegan, 24 years old. They confiscate his laptop and mobile and Jo puts Emerson in charge of finding out about Nathan’s friends while the DI and DS go to his parents and Riley and Mansell check his workplace.

They reconvene in the late afternoon to put their findings together. It appears that Nathan was stabbed to death with a normal kitchen knife but the weapon remains elusive. He also bears several lacerations, haematomas and what appear to be whip marks which Jo considers to be marks left by the murderer against Nathan’s will.

“Sir?” Emerson cuts in. “That might not be the case, here.”

“Anything in your findings suggest otherwise?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” He immediately has the team’s undivided attention. “I contacted his friends and as it seems, Nathan was a member of the BDSM scene so the marks to his body would have been obtained during consensual encounters.”

Emerson takes out photos he found on Facebook. “This is Bradley, also 24, and Charlie, also 24. They’re Nathan’s best friends. Both have alibis for the time of the murder. From what they told me, Nathan had been seeing a new dom prior to his death, though they didn’t know his name but there are a few potential numbers on Nathan’s phone that could lead us to the man. If not, Nathan frequently visits Woody’s, a bar, and the Dungeon, where he subs some weekends, too, according to Bradley. Someone at either of those places is bound to have seen Nathan with his dom.”

The look on his senior officer’s faces is priceless. He wishes for a camera to capture the open-mouthed expressions on Jo’s, Miles’ and Mansell’s faces. Only Riley seems to know what he was just talking about.

“I think you have to spell it out for the boys,” she snickers.

He can barely contain his laughter as he explains about BDSM, subs, doms, practices that involve whipping, bruising and restraints and that the Dungeon is the favourite BDSM club of London’s LGBT community.

All three men are wide-eyed when he finishes.

“Good work,” Jo stammers but he catches himself quickly. “Then we should go to the Dungeon and ask around.”

“Sir?” Jo motions him to go on. “With all due respect, I believe it’s easier to start with Woody’s. Apparently Nathan went there every week and perhaps even met up with his dom there from time to time. I just think the people there will be more willing to give us information. Just a suggestion, sir.”

Jo thinks it over for a moment, then nods. “Sounds reasonable. Miles and I will start there, then.”

“Oh, sir, you should really take Kent with you,” Riley throws in. “It’s your home turf, isn’t it?” She winks at him and Kent can feel the blush spreading already.

“Yeah, a few times a month….” he admits.

Miles chuckles. “Might be good to have someone who knows the barkeeper.”

Jo’s still staring at Emerson, though, so it takes a second or two until he answers Miles. “You’re right. Kent, we’ll meet at nine.”

*

When he comes home, Emerson’s head is spinning. What was he supposed to wear? His office clothes? What he was usually wearing on a night at Woody’s?

And above all, how would Jo react when he realizes that every barkeeper knows him by name? He could hardly explain that it’s Jo’s fault that Emerson frequents the bar as often as he does…

Val, Sharon and Colin are eating at the kitchen table and Emerson takes a plate from the cupboard and joins them.

“What’s going on?” Val has definitely known him too long.

“I need to go to Woody’s at nine.”

“You want company?”

“As detective Kent.”

His flatmates fall into shocked silence – at least for a second.

“Can I still come?”

“Did someone die?”

“What are you going to wear?”

“Oh my, what is your boss going to say when people hit on you?”

“What’s he going to say when people hit on him?”

“Guys, please!” He sounds desperate enough for them to actually be quiet. “I can’t say. Yes, someone died and he went to Woody’s every week. And I have no idea.”

“Come on, mate,” Colin pats his back, “you can show your DI what an awesome detective you are when all the people tell you everything you need because they realize they had sex with a detective!”

“Not helping, Colin!”

“Oh, he’s right! You’re going to be so professional tonight!”

And just like that Sharon takes over, tells him what to wear and keep everything casual.

“And don’t blush! You have nothing to be ashamed of; everyone has a life outside the office.”

*

Sharon is right, Emerson repeats on his way to Woody’s. He’s there at five to nine and isn’t surprised when Jo and Miles are already there.

Both men are wearing a suit and Emerson is glad that Sharon made him wear his, including the tie, to tell everyone he knows that he’s here on business.

“Any suggestions as to how we should proceed?” Jo seems a little uneasy but that was to be expected. He was equally tense when they were queuing for the Hooded Crow.

“We should start with Sayid, he’s the head bartender, works here every night, so he is very likely to know something. After him, we’ll have to see who’s working or if Sayid can point out some of the regulars.”

“Good. Lead the way, detective,” Miles smirks and after checking with Jo, Emerson enters the bar.

They don’t stand out too much. Or Miles and he don’t, but Jo with his three-piece suits is something the customers don’t usually see. It’s already crowded, though nowhere near as full as the bar is after eleven.

He catches a few people looking at Jo but his DI doesn’t seem to notice the attention.

Emerson sees a few familiar faces but keeps scanning the room until he spots Sayid, a handsome Arab wearing an alarming amount of eye shadow and a daringly colourful combination of clothing. Well, Sayid is a character and everyone here loves him for it.

“That’s him over there,” he explains and they approach the bar that’s thankfully empty except for a couple on the right side.

Sayid sees them coming but he has to do a double take.

“Em! Hardly recognised you there. You scrub up nicely, don’t you?”

“Thanks, Sayid.”

“What can I get you?”

“Nothing tonight, sorry. We’re here on business.” He flashes his ID. “This is DI Chandler and DS Miles.”

Sayid’s eyes widen as they swoop over their badges. “Jesus. Did someone die?”

“Yes. Nathan Finnegan. We know that he comes here most weeks and that he’s been seeing someone lately.” Jo shows Sayid Nathan’s Facebook photo.

“He is a regular ever since he was legal to drink. I can’t believe he’s dead!”

“We’re sorry, too.” On a whim, he takes Sayid’s hand that’s resting on the counter and squeeze it briefly.

The barkeeper sniffles. “He was in here just yesterday. Around eight, I think. Usually he and his friends move on to brighter things after, but not on Thursdays because they have to work.”

“Who was with him yesterday?”

“Only Brad, I think. Nathan was buying their drinks but I didn’t catch why.”

“Bradley told us that Nathan was seeing a new bloke. He was also scening with him. Did you ever meet him?”

“Now that you mention it… There was this one lad buying him drinks these past weeks.” Sayid scans the room. “No, he’s not here, though.”

“Do you know anyone who could tell us about him?” Jo speaks up for the first time.

Sayid nods, eyes back on the crowd. “Over there at Lennie’s bar. The bear.”

“Pardon?”

“He means the, erm, gentleman with the leather cap, sir,” Emerson explains. 

“Thank you.” Jo nods at Sayid and steps away from the bar.

“Please, don’t spread the news, Sayid, alright?” Emerson cautions just in case.

“I promise.”

He glides off the barstool to follow his fellow detectives but Sayid’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“Sir?” he whispers with a raised eyebrow and a suggestive look that leaves a faint blush on Emerson’s cheeks.

“Did he have anything to ad?” Jo asks when he catches up with them.

“He just complimented your looks, sir,” Emerson’s mouth supplies before he can think the better of it. The atmosphere and the fact that Jo and Miles let him conduct the interview basically on his own seem to be making him bold.

“Oh.” The embarrassed smile that follows immediately makes the top five most adorable Joseph Chandler moments.

“Of course, his Nibs gets all the compliments….”

“I’m sure we could find someone for you, too, Sergeant. A young lover perhaps?”

“Yeah, how Judy would love that!”

They’re almost at the bar when Emerson remembers why he was incredibly unhappy that their next witness is sitting there in particular. Lennie. Whom he has spent several nights with. Who is the barkeeper version of Jo with longer hair and a bigger biceps.

Emerson swallows back his nervousness when Jo nods and he slides into the empty space between the bear and a group of barely legal twinks.

Before he can start, the man beats him to it.

“What’s with the suit, young lad? Why don’t ya let me buy ya a drink and let me take that suit off ya?”

“Sorry, Rufus, that one’s way out of your league. What can I get you, Em?” Lennie purrs from behind the bar and Emerson forces his hands steady as he shows the two men his ID.

“I’m here on business, Lennie, but thank you. This is DI Chandler and DS Miles. We’re investigating a murder.”

Suddenly, Jo steps close and shows the men Nathan’s picture. “Nathan Finnegan was murdered yesterday night. Sayid said that you, sir, could know something about his new dom?”

Emerson has to give it to his boss, he sounds like he hasn’t just learned about subs and doms a few hours ago.

Lennie is silently staring at the picture while Rufus picks it up. “Yeah, that’s Steward’s new boy! They’re a match made in heaven. Do ya know how hard it is to find the perfect sub? And he’s really dead?”

“He was stabbed with a knife in his apartment,” Jo supplies. “What can you tell us about this Stewart?”

“Stewart Hall. He’s nearing forty, I think. Been comin’ to the Dungeon for ages, had a few steady subs but it never worked out. Don’t know what he’s doing for a livin’, but he’s always at the Dungeon on Saturdays, so you’ll catch him there.”

“You said they’re a match made in heaven? No fights, nothing?” Miles cut in.

Rufus shakes his head vehemently. “No, nothin’ like that! They met about three months ago… Stuart wanted to collar him, he was tellin’ a few of us last week.”

“Collar him?” Miles asked.

“Ya know, make him his sub. Show everyone he’s taken.”

“Like a wedding ring,” Emerson supplies which earns him a look from Rufus.

“Ya sure I can’t buy ya a drink?”

“I’m sure.”

“In that case…” He fumbles in the pockets of his leather jacket and produces a bundle of small tickets with the Dungeon emblem. “How many do ya need?”

“Why?” Jo askes before Emerson can explain.

“Well, if ya ain’t a member ya ain’t getting’ into the Dungeon. Unless a member invites ya. I’m sure ya lot could get in with ya badges, but no one’s goin’ to tell ya much lookin’ like a copper.”

“And those tickets will get us in?”

“Sure.”

“We’d take five, if that’s alright.”

“No problem! As long as ya catch that killer. Takin’ Nathan away from Stuart, that’s just cruel.” Rufus hands Jo the tickets and puts the rest back into his pocket, rising from the barstool.

“If ya ain’t goin’ to let me take ya home, DC Kent, I’m goin’ to have to look somewhere else. Good luck.”

“Thank you,” Emerson replies and resists the strong urge to see Jo’s reaction.

They turn to Lennie but the barkeeper is still staring at the picture.

“Lennie? Are you alright? Do you know anything?”

The man shakes his head. “It’s…. I knew him. I… We used to. You know.” Then Emerson gets it.

“Where you close?”

“No, not really. Just no one I shagged ever died before.”

“He was murdered, Lennie. Do you remember anything that might tell us who could want him dead?”

Lennie shakes his head again. “No. If anything, I’d have thought it would be Stuart.”

“What makes you say that? I thought Nathan and he-“

“Yeah, yeah, match made in heaven. I’m not talking about Nathan, I’m talking about Charlie.”

“Why?”

“Everyone who’s not blind could see that Charlie is bloody taken with Nathan. Only Nathan never realized.”

That sounds only too familiar to Emerson’s ears. “Sayid mentioned Nathan was buying the drinks yesterday. Do you know why?”

Lennie nods. “They were at Kendra’s bar. She told me afterwards. Seems that Stuart offered Nathan the collar and he accepted, so they were celebrating.”

“Did the say anything about Charlie? Has he told him already?”

“No idea. Charlie’s never around on Thursdays.”

“Visiting his mother, he told us.” Emerson sighs and looks at the other detectives if anyone has any other questions. They both shake their heads minutely.

Now Emerson’s dilemma is complete. He has to tell Lennie to call should he remember anything else, but Lennie already has his number. Bloody hell. Don’t be ashamed, Sharon said.

“Well, if you hear anything else, give us a call.”

“I will.” Lennie’s look turned suggestive. “I have your number after all.”

“Thank you.” As quickly as politely possible, he slips away from the bar, Jo and Miles behind him.

“Old flame?” Miles jokes and Emerson merely rolls his eyes for he doesn’t trust his voice.

He chances a glance at Jo but his face is inscrutable.

“Is this Kendra working tonight? I’d like to verify his testimony,” he asks and Emerson points towards the black woman with the tight top.

She confirms Lennie’s report and gives them a few more details on the epic story of unrequited love between Charlie and Nathan.

“How come you know so much about them?” Emerson asks when there’s a brief pause in her stream of stories.

“Well, that’s Charlie’s doing. He knows I at least won’t hit on his beloved Nathan.”

The three share a look and seem to think they have gotten every piece of information possible from tonight.

“Thank you, you were very helpful,” Jo tells her and they turn to leave.

“Oh, you can’t simply go. Stay for a drink – on the house!”

Miles is the first to crumble. “Well, we’re officially finished, so one can’t do harm now, can it?”

Emerson shrugs but he sees Jo eying the Vodka on the shelf.

So they’re staying. Miles orders a Scotch, Jo a Vodka and Emerson decides that he really needs something real after that night, so he asks for a Singapore Sling.

Miles and Jo are laughing when Kendra places the colourful drink in front of him, with pineapple and miniature umbrella.

“Let me drink cocktails while it’s still acceptable and I’m not too old,” he retorts with a laugh.

They start talking about the case and how to approach Saturday night at the Dungeon when Emerson feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns on his stool and is face to face with Tall, Dark and Muscled.

“Yes?” The man might still be a witness.

“I’ve noticed you earlier but I didn’t want to intrude. I can’t resist any more now, so sorry for that.” His voice is deep and if the man of his dreams weren’t sitting right next to him, Emerson would have probably followed that bloke anywhere. “Here’s my number. Give me a call sometime.”

His smile reveals shiny teeth and with a wink, he returns into the crowd from whence he came.

Emerson stares at the slip of paper that tells him the bloke’s actually Mike, but quickly puts in on the bar.

“You’re not going to keep it?” Kendra asks from where she’s mixing another drink.

“Nah, not my type.”

“Well, what is your type?” Miles asks with a malicious grin.

Emerson almost chokes on his Singapore Sling. “What? Why?”

“I’m curious.”

“Shouldn’t we be coming up with a plan for tomorrow?”

“Kent is right,” Jo suddenly agrees. Is it Emerson’s imagination or has Jo come closer?

“If his Nibs insist…”

After half an hour, they decide to turn their visit to the Dungeon into an undercover mission.

“I fear I’ll have to miss that one,” Miles tries but Jo isn’t having any of that.

“Miles, we have five tickets. We need five detectives.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“It will be fun,” Emerson tries. “You can treat it as an early Halloween party!”

It’s only after Miles grudgingly agrees that Jo’s head snaps up abruptly, eyes wider than usual.

“Kent, do you know what we are supposed to wear?”

Emerson takes a long sip of his cocktail. “Leather is always a good idea.” The looks his DI and DS give him say it all. “Or lacking that, black. Or dark jeans. No dress pants! Tight black shirt or top? You should at least blend in but it will be obvious that it’s your first time to the Dungeon.”

“As long as they don’t recognise us as detectives immediately, it will have to do.”

They finish their drinks and Jo decides out of the blue that he will take Emerson home after Miles hurried off to his car.

“It’s on my way,” he explains redundantly.

“That’d be lovely.”

They have a bit of a drive ahead of them but Emerson isn’t sure whether he should say anything about what happened that night. The alcohol in his veins takes care of the decision for him.

“Thank you, sir. For letting me take the lead on the interviews. It’s a great compliment.”

“You deserve it,” Jo answers and Emerson find’s his throat is suddenly very dry. “You were excellent with the witnesses today. They really opened up to you.”

“Well, I knew most of them…”

“I suppose that helps.”

Emerson spends the silence that follows trying to figure out what kind of impression he made today, not on DI Chandler, but on Jo, the man who was checking him out in forensics last week.

“Kent?”

“Yes?”

Jo’s fingers are tight around the wheel, even in the dim street lights. “I don’t mean to pry, but I was wondering… Do you think you’d be able, tomorrow, to look convincing? Let me rephrase…” Jo’s tongue wets his lips nervously. “To look as if it wasn’t your first time at the club?”

“Erm, yes, sir, I could.” Jo’s nod is curt, as if he doesn’t dare say anymore, and later, Emerson will blame his next few sentences on the alcohol. “I’ve been there before.” Jo’s head jerks as if he wanted to look over but stopped himself in the last second. “An ex-boyfriend of mine took me a few times. I didn’t really stay in the scene when we broke up but I think I still have something appropriate in my wardrobe.”

He sees Jo swallow out of the corners of his eyes. “Good.”

Emerson knows the signs but has never seen them in Jo. At this moment he doesn’t care for propriety – if Jo wants to know more about him, he won’t stop him.

“Sir, its okay if you want to ask.”

At that, Jo does look at him. Emerson nods in affirmation and the DI focuses on the road again.

“I didn’t know you are gay. Or bisexual, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume-“

“No, you’re right. I’m gay. It just never came up, I think.”

“So is there anyone special? Mansell and Riley are always talking about their partners… I’ve never heard you talk about anyone.”

“There hasn’t been anyone in some time, sir…. It just- I’m looking for the right one, I suppose.”

Emerson smiles and feels his heart flutter. I’m looking for you, his mind ads but his mouth thankfully ignores the thought.

“That’s a difficult endeavour.”

“Judging by Mansell, I’d say you’re right,” Emerson jokes. “But look at Ray and Judy. They’ve been together forever and I don’t see that ending soon.”

“He found the one.” Jo’s comment is more directed at himself than at Emerson.

“Lucky man.”

And just then, Jo pulls over and Emerson recognises his building.

“Thank you.” He smiles and is almost euphoric when Jo returns it.

“Not at all.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC very soon


	5. Take a leap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles decides it‘s time to intervene. Though when Emerson decides to finally make a move, a serial killer derails his plans epically. 
> 
> Warning: graphic depiction of OCD ahead!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking so long but first I was busy and them my beta got busy... But here it it :) It's getting serious now, guys! Prepare or slash....
> 
> L’Etalier is an actual restaurant in London, I tried to get as many details from the pictures online as possible.

Jo’s skin is turning an angry red from scrubbing it clean. The thought registers belatedly, but the moment he realises what he’s doing, Jo turns the water off. 

He towels off, touch turning tentative above the discoloured skin. The marks will be gone tomorrow. He slips into fresh shorts to sleep in and settles down underneath the covers. 

Now that the case is closed, he finally feels how exhausted he is, not just physically but most of all emotionally. 

Emerson Kent. Diligent, hard-working, efficient, always the first to volunteer for over-time, hardly ever late, respectful. He has the makings of a great detective. 

But then there’s Kent’s other side, the one he’s shown Jo increasingly these past months, where he proved to be considerate, understanding, caring well beyond the bounds of his job. 

Kent researches OCD, carries a spare tissue especially for Jo, makes sure he is the first to open a door, dry-cleans the shirt Jo leant him instead of simply washing it, suggests Jo call for back-up and searches dirty apartments by himself. Kent sees when his demons trouble him, but he doesn’t judge. He simply washes the dishes. 

Emers- DC Kent smiles and brings him tea when he’s off-duty and when he comes home, Jo feels all warm inside but it has nothing to do with the tea.

Jo turns onto his other side in his bed - one look at his night-stand tells him the edges are straight and the lines parallel, but he moves his clock nevertheless, adjusting and re-adjusting its position until it’s perfect and no different from before. 

_He’s not just any DC, he’s your DC and you’re his superior. You’re over ten years his senior._

_He’s not just any DC, he’s your DC and you’re his superior. You’re over ten years his senior._

_He’s not just any DC, he’s your DC and you’re his superior. You’re over ten years his senior._

His mind keeps repeating the thoughts as if Jo doesn’t already know that he can’t act on the warmness that spreads in his chest every time Emers- Kent smiles. 

He can’t – as his superior officer, he simply can’t. 

*

“Boss?”

“Yes?” He looks up at Miles, standing in his door frame. 

“With the case closed, what do you say to a beer after work?”

The bar near the station is clean, the beer is good. It’s been a long time since Miles and he went for a drink. 

“Sure.”

“See you then, son.”

*

Just before shift ends, Jo sees Kent collecting the garbage around the office and he allows himself to watch through the open office door. Allows his eyes to linger on long fingers and swift movements, dark hair that curls at the nape of his neck, allows his eyes to drift lower still until the detective turns around to put the bin back and Jo trains his eyes on the paper in front of him again. 

“Good-bye, sir,” he hears Emerson say. 

Before he can think the better of it, he smiles at the man. “Good-bye.” 

Emerson returns his smile, picks up his jacket and leaves. It takes a second until Jo realises that Miles is waiting in front of his office. 

“You ready, boss?” Miles asks and doesn’t mention what he saw – if he saw anything at all.

“Yes, almost,” he nods, organising the papers and putting them back into his briefcase. He leaves the desk immaculate, throws on his jacket and departs with his sergeant. 

Jo asks about Judy and his goddaughter and for a while, Miles tells stories about how she brought chaos into the Miles household on Sunday. 

“Son, can I ask you something?” Miles sounds ominous. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of Jo’s stomach. 

“Go ahead.” He sips his beer, aiming at nonchalant. 

“What do you think of Emerson?”

Jo chokes on his drink, coughing violently for a second. Miles didn’t say Kent, he used the first name for a reason. 

“Sorry, wrong pipe…” It’s a lame excuse, he knows it. “What was the question?”

“What you think about Emerson?”

“He’s a great detective. Diligent, efficient, hard-working-“

“I wasn’t asking about Kent, Jo. I was asking about Emerson.”

“What do you mean?” Jo tries, though Miles sees right through him. 

“Don’t take me for a fool. You know exactly what I mean: the coffee yesterday? The little smiles? The way you were undressing him with your eyes when he left just now, something I never thought I’d see you do?” 

Jo closes his eyes, fully aware of the blush spreading across his cheeks. He wants to lie, pretend he doesn’t feel the way he’s feeling, but this is Miles, not just his sergeant but also his best friend. 

“I,” he begins, uncertain of how to proceed. “I guess I… I might like him.”

“So when you said you weren’t gay, you meant you’re one of those bisexuals then?”

Jo shrugs. He wasn’t lying, then. He was being elusive. 

“You know, if you’d told me, it’d have made this ordeal a lot shorter and simpler.” The comment is directed more at Miles himself than at Jo. He raises an inquisitive eye-brow but Miles doesn’t specify. 

“Well, now we’re all clear, how about you tell me what you plan on doing about it?”

“About what?”

“About your feelings for Emerson.”

“Miles…” Jo pushes his glass away from him in exasperation. “I’m his DI. I can’t- it’s not appropriate. Besides, He’s not even thirty and I’m almost forty.”

“Ah, things like that don’t matter in our times, do they? Age is just a number!”

“Alright, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am his superior officer. I can’t make a move.”

“So what if he makes it first?”  
 “Why would Emers- why would Kent make a move?” 

Jo has never considered that possibility but he immediately discards it. Emerson told him about past boyfriends. If he were interested, Jo would have known. Wouldn’t he? 

Miles is staring at him, mouth hanging slightly open. 

“Miles? Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just processing.” He closes his eyes and sighs heavily. “So you don’t think Emerson has feelings for you?”

“Why should he?” 

“I don’t know, because you’re a nice, attractive guy. Because you’re special? There’re a lot of reasons he could like you, son.”

Special? Yes, Jo is special. He carries a tissue to clean his hand, he arranges his belongings symmetrically, his cleaning lady has to come three times a week, he keeps three spare shirts at work. 

His thoughts must have shown on his face, for the next words out of Miles are, “Not what I meant. I meant that you’re unique. Loveable.”

“Miles, I’m living with OCD.”

“Emerson knows that.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean he wants to date me.”

Miles gives him one last, long look before he bursts into bitter laughter. Then he changes the subject, which bewilders Jo more than the conversation leading up to this point. 

*

Emerson is pilling through hours of CCTV footage for their newest, though boring, case on Thursday afternoon. 

He is so focused on the screens that the cough coming from the door barely registers. He doesn’t know what should be more disconcerting – that Miles is hovering or that he is smiling.

“Can I help you, Sergeant?” 

“We need to talk, kid.” 

“About?”

“One DI Chandler.”

Unease overcomes him immediately. Has Miles eventually had enough of Emerson’s pining? Has he come to tell him to cut it or look for another team?

“What is it?”

“Listen, kid,” the man begins and takes a seat next to him, pausing before he goes on. For a moment Miles‘ hands move awkwardly but then he seems to have decided on what to say. “I was wondering: It’s clear you can’t stop feeling like you’re feeling. So what’s stopping you from making a move?”

The question catches Emerson completely unprepared. “Making a, a move?” he splutters. 

“Yes. I don’t know – ask him out or something?”

Emerson swallows as he gathers all the reasons that kept him in inaction this long. “For one, he’s my DI. I mean, I don’t care but I know he would. Besides, I’m not even sure he likes men. Or me. I’m just his DC.” He wants to add a desperate “aren’t I?” but holds his tongue. 

“I see.” The sergeant sighs in what sounds like relief, as if the weight of the world were just falling off his shoulders. “Let me see if I got this: You would make a move if you knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he wouldn’t decline your offer. Correct?”

“Yes, but I can’t know beyond the shadow of a doubt, so what is all this about?” Emerson is genuinely confused. Why Miles’ sudden interest when he used to be so indifferent, or rather grudgingly accepting until now?

The Sergeant, however, is actually smirking. Rather smugly, too. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, kid. You can know.”

“How?”

“Because I can tell you.”

The words register but lack in meaning. What is Miles playing at? How can he know? Did he by any chance--? Or did Jo say--?

Miles keeps looking at him, expecting a reaction, so Emerson stutters, “What can you-? I don’t- what do you mean?”

Another sigh, exasperated this time as if Emerson was a truly slow child. “Do I have to spell it out for you?” 

All he can do is shrug. His hands have started shaking and his heart rate is way above normal. The flame of hope has reached new heights. 

“But only because I pity you, both of you, in fact! I mean, I always knew you fancied him, but when I learned he fancies you, too….”

“What?!” Emerson shouts and immediately glances around to make sure no one heard him. 

“I saw you two, with the coffee on Monday. He smiled at you, and I thought that was odd. We went for a beer on Tuesday and I asked him. He said that he likes you.”

Jo likes him? Jo really does? It’s too good to be true, there has to be a catch somewhere. 

“What did he say, exactly? You’re sure you didn’t misunderstand?”

“Kid, he said he likes you. But we have two problems here: For one he doesn’t know you’re over the moon for him – and frankly, I can’t believe he’s a bloody detective and didn’t notice your little crush – and for another he says that he can’t ask you out because he’s your DI. However-“ he holds up a hand to stop Emerson from agreeing that, yes, he is his superior officer, “he did say that if you made the first move, he could say yes because he could be sure that he wasn’t exploiting his position of power or something. So there.”

Miles crosses his arms in front of his chest, utterly satisfied and all Emerson can do is stare in disbelief. 

“Oh my god.” 

“Don’t hyperventilate or anything, you hear me?” 

Emerson isn’t hyperventilating – if there’s a thing called euphoric shock, he’s experiencing it. 

“Jo likes me.” It rolls off his tongue smoothly and his lips curl into a bright smile. 

“Finally! Now all you got to do is make a move, kid. Promise me you will, alright? You two deserve to be happy.”

Emerson nods. “I promise.”

*

It takes him half an hour before he gets actual work done again. He has a simple plan: Ask Jo out for dinner. 

He only needs to catch his DI alone. 

But every time he sees Jo that afternoon, he’s with other people, either Mansell or Riley or the pathologist. 

He stretches his rounds with the bin to its utmost limits – to no avail, they’re never alone. So Emerson leaves, mission unaccomplished, looking forward to Friday. 

*

Friday is a disaster. Jo manages to elude Emerson all morning so when he decides to bring Jo tea again his mobile rings before he can even enter the coffee shop. 

There’s a body, there’s a case - Emerson is off interviewing friends of the victim, charting his findings. 

They work through the night and it’s just never the right time to ask. After all, they have a murderer to catch. 

Which they do, hours later on Saturday night and Jo sends them home. 

Emerson freezes on the spot, hears the others put on their jackets and tries to make his feet move but even if he made it into Jo’s office, Riley and Mansell would be way too intrigued to simply leave and he has no reason to stay behind. 

So he heads home to an empty apartment. 

*

Sunday is spent devising plans. 

Monday to Friday are the days his brilliant plans fail. It’s as if the universe conspired against him. 

Miles keeps shooting him pointy glances and suggests drinks on Friday. Jo declines but the rest are in, and they’re onto him the moment they sit down. 

“You’ve been acting really weird, Emerson,” Riley chides. “What’s up with you?”

“He’s trying to ask his Nibs out.” 

Emerson glares yet Miles is undeterred. 

“For real? Lad, I told you not to shag above your ranks!” 

“It’s not all about sex, Fin!” He groans in frustration, burying his face in his hands. 

“So what’s it about?”

Riley slaps Mansell on the back of his head. Hard. “You baboon, can’t you see the poor sod’s in love?”

When they stop bickering, however, the two detectives decide to help Emerson in his endeavour. 

“We’ll get you some time alone so you can ask him, Emerson.”

“Yeah, you just have to go through with it!”

They will launch their mission on Monday. 

*

Or they would have, if it hadn’t been for the mutilated corpse of Abbie Clifford, nine years old, beaten to death after sexual abuse, found Sunday afternoon. 

It’s a manhunt after that, no, not really – a wild goose chase for they have no suspects. 

Another body is found Tuesday evening and ensures another sleepless night. Miles is becoming more and more edgy, Riley, usually so composed and calm, borders on hysterical and Jo’s hands have turned red from all the scrubbing them clean. 

When every lead and every theory leads to nothing, Jo sends them home to get some rest. Everyone is out the door in seconds, leaving their DI in his office. 

Emerson knocks softly. 

“You really should go home, Kent, we need to be alert and rested.”

“So why aren’t you on your way home, sir?” He can’t ban the worry from his voice. He doesn’t really try, frankly. 

Jo looks up at him like he’s an alien. “I couldn’t sleep if I did. Perhaps I’ll find something.”

“Sir, with all due respect, we’ve been on duty for over forty hours. You need to sleep. Consider it a favour to Abbie and Claire.”

Jo holds his look for a moment that goes on forever before he sighs in defeat. 

“I know, Kent. But... During a case like this, sleep eludes me.”

When the DI’s eyes return to his, he seems more tired than Emerson has ever seen him. 

“Drive me home then, I still have some sleeping pills, sir.”

It’s not a question or a suggestion. It’s as close to an order as Emerson dares to get. 

For a second, though, he fears Jo will decline, but the man closes his eyes, gathers his clock and phone, adjusts the items on his desk with frantic movements before he grabs his coat and nods at him. 

They leave the incident room in silence. 

*

Jo follows him up and Emerson thanks whatever gods there are that Colin was on cleaning duty the night before. 

Everyone is already in bed so they don’t run into anyone on their way to the bathroom where they keep their medication. They’re technically Sharon’s sleeping pills because she needs them on full-moon nights, but he will buy her new ones. 

“Here you so, sir.” Emerson holds the bottle out. Their fingers brush when Jo accepts it and their eyes meet. 

He opens his mouth to speak, then chooses to swallow his words. It’s not the right time when they’re trying to catch a child killer.

“Thank you.” Jo nods, turns, and walks towards their front door. 

Just before he can leave, though, Emerson reaches out – his fingers gently close around Jo’s left wrist. The man doesn’t wince, but he turns, eyes travelling from Emerson’s fingers up to his face.

“Please, promise me you’ll take them and get some rest.”

“I promise.” Jo’s voice is incredibly soft, more of a whisper. His hand twists until it slips into his. Jo squeezes softly, then draws his hand back and opens the door. 

Emerson is breathless. 

*

The next morning, Jo indeed looks like he had a healthy amount of sleep. Emerson nods at him in satisfaction, Jo smiles back. 

They manage to connect the two victims to a beauty pageant that is to be held the next day in which neither Abbie nor Clara can compete in any more. 

A few hours later, a jogger finds another child. Little Mary was beaten, too, but it seems that the murderer was interrupted before he had time to rape her. They find a footprint from which they can guess height and build of the suspect, but nothing more, despite working through the night.

“The pageant is tonight,” Jo says, a hand threading through his hair, “so our suspect is bound to be there. The only thing connecting the victims is this pageant, we need to be there, too.”

Jo looks slightly green but then they all do when they think of the victims and what could happen to even more kids should they fail to act as quickly as necessary. 

Emerson spends the next hours inspecting CCTV images with Riley and Mansell, desperate to catch Abbie, Clara or Mary on tape with the killer. 

It’s Mansell who sees the stuffed pony that Clara used to carry around everywhere to show she’s a princess. 

The killer is clever enough to avoid being in full view of the CCTV cameras, but as he passes a glass door, leading Clara away from the mall she was visiting, Emerson has an idea. 

“Zoom in on the door, perhaps we can get a reflection.”

They don’t, at least not one good enough for facial recognition. 

“Still, good work,” Jo comments when they show him their findings. “We know what the attacker wore, perhaps he will be wearing the same….” Jo takes a deep breath. Emerson notices how his hands are shaking, if from rage or frustration though, he can’t fathom. “There will be about five hundred people there tonight, it’s going to be tough finding him. You should head home, we don’t have long until we need to be there.”

A nod dismisses them. With a sigh, Miles rises from his chair and makes to leave, Mansell and Riley at his heels. Emerson looks back once more but Jo closed the door to his office, so it’s clear he doesn’t want anyone to try and cheer him up. 

He’s almost out the door when he crumbles. 

Jo must be freaking out right about now – three dead and mutilated children and 100 contestants tonight that the murderer could choose from. Emerson knows as well as Jo and Miles and Riley and Mansell how slim their chances are of catching the killer tonight. If they fail, there will be another body. 

Emerson turns on his heels, hurries back to the incident room but Jo is nowhere to be found. His coat is still hanging on the wall, however, so he has to be somewhere. 

His first stop is the bathroom – empty. Then, he remembers the showers one level below him. 

When he reaches the door, he can hear the water running and he hesitates for a second until he determines it’s not the shower. It can’t be the shower, Jo hasn’t had the time.

Emerson pushes the door open and steps inside. His DI is standing at the sink, sleeves of his shirt are rolled back and he is washing his hands and forearms. Even from the distance, Emerson can tell that the water is scalding hot, and the colour of Jo’s skin where they come in contact with it only proves it. 

“Are you alright?” It’s a stupid question, really, but all Emerson can think of saying. 

“Yes, of course,” Jo replies, shakes the water from his hands and towels off. The skin is deep red against the white of the fabric and Jo is unable to meet his eyes. Emerson locks the door behind him to avoid interruptions.

“How long would you have continued if I hadn’t come in?”

Jo’s head snaps up, lips parted as he stares for a moment. “I was just done.”

“I don’t think you were.” 

He can see it in every fibre of Jo’s body, the tension in his shoulders, how his hands twitch around the towel, how is eyes dart back to the sink every few seconds. But Jo is hurting himself and Emerson can’t stand by and let that happen. 

The DI closes his eyes, releasing a shaky breath. “I need this to function. And I need to function tonight.”

“You were hurting yourself.”

“The water wasn’t that hot.” Jo’s eyes are still closed, as if he’s trying to will Emerson away. 

“You and I both know that’s a lie.”

“What do you want me to say?” Finally, Jo is looking at him, but he’s shouting now. He looks angry, angry at himself, angry at Emerson, angry at the world. “Do you want me to say that, yes, the water was so hot it burned my skin but it was the only way I could think clearly? That if I didn’t, all I would think of was how dirty my hands are, how dirty I am, that I haven’t showered since this morning? Do you want me to be distracted all day when there’s a killer on the loose who’s, who’s raping children and we haven’t done anything to stop him? I haven’t done anything to stop him!” 

Jo is breathing hard now and he has taken a few steps towards Emerson who can’t find words to soothe the pain his DI is so clearly feeling. 

“You can’t blame yourself-“ he tries, but Jo interrupts him. 

“Yes, I can. I am leading this investigation and I am responsible if it fails and if there are more bodies after tonight and still no one to accuse. If this fails, I fail. I will be the reason that parents lose their children-“ he chokes and his grip around the towel tightens. 

Jo bows his head so Emerson can’t see his eyes anymore, but Jo’s hands start moving, rubbing the towel over his arms with a lot more pressure than necessary, irritating the skin still bearing marks from the hot water. 

“Sir, you need to stop!” Emerson takes a few steps forward so he’s almost in touching distance but Jo backs away. He follows once more, Jo steps backwards until his back hits the wall and the skin over his knuckles tears. 

Emerson acts on impulse and instinct alone when he takes the last step and closes the distance. He puts his hands on Jo’s wrists, firm but gentle and blue eyes finally look into his. 

He wants to make the pain he sees in them go away, wants to make Jo stop hurting, hurting himself, so he leans forward and presses a kiss to Jo’s lips. 

The man immediately stills, the grip on the towel relaxes a fraction and Emerson knows he’s doing something right. He daringly licks at Jo’s bottom lip, but the DI gasps and it’s all he needs to slide his tongue into the heat of Jo’s mouth and finally provoke a reaction. 

Jo melts against his lips and kisses back with all he has, coaxing Emerson’s tongue further into his mouth and Emerson can’t hold back the moan as he releases Jo’s wrists and cups his face instead, fingers at the back of his neck, thumb caressing his cheeks. 

The towel hits the tiles with a faint thud while Jo’s arms wrap themselves around Emerson’s torso, drawing him closer until he is flush against the taller man and can feel his body heat through his shirt. He wants to stay there forever because it’s so much better than any of his phantasies because it’s real, because he can feel strong muscles against his chest and suck Jo’s bottom lip into his mouth until the DI moans and captures his lips again. 

When Jo eventually pulls away he keeps Emerson close and rests his head on his shoulders, breath heavy. Emerson’s hands travel down to Jo’s chest and circle around until he is actually holding him. He leans his head against Jo’s on his shoulder, keeping his eyes closed, simply breathing and feeling the other man relax more and more in his grip. 

Emerson longs to say something but he doesn’t want to break their moment, doesn’t want to be the first to move. 

He loses track of time in the bathroom as he listens to Jo’s heart beat against his chest. 

When the DI moves, it’s not much: He draws back a bit until their foreheads meet so they can’t look at each other. 

It occurs to Emerson that Jo might be at a loss for words and he remembers Miles’ comment about how Emerson has to be the one to make a move, so he swallows and finally speaks.

“Feeling better?”

Jo nods minutely against his forehead. “Yes.”

“Good. So why don’t you put on a new shirt and drive me home so I can change, too. We can go to the pageant together.”

Another nod and the arms around his body draw back as Jo untangles himself. 

Blue eyes meet his own for the first time – there’s a lot less pain now, Emerson is happy to say, but a great deal of confusion. 

“I’ll give you some privacy.” Emerson steps away from the other man, smiles what he hopes to be a reassuring smile, and leaves the bathroom. 

It’s only a few minutes until Jo emerges and they walk back to his office in silence so he can get is coat. The ride to his apartment is equally quiet though in the end, Emerson has decided on what to say. 

“Listen,” he begins as Jo draws up in front of his building, “I was wondering. After we finish the case, we could go out for dinner. If you’d like?” 

Jo looks at him, lips parted, obviously unsure of what to say. 

“Think about it. I’ll be back as soon as possible.” With a smile, he opens the door and hurries inside, changing into a new suit and shirt, opting to leave his tie behind to better blend in with the crowd. 

He has to forcibly slow down not to trip over his own feet as he descends the stairs. 

“All set,” he mumbles nervously after he closed the passenger door behind him and put his seat belt on. 

Jo doesn’t start the car so Emerson looks up to find the DI considering him with a hesitant expression.

“I… About the dinner. Would that be… Could it be considered a date?”

“Yes. If you’d like that. Because I would,” he clarifies, willing his heart to stop beating so fast. 

A smile tugs at the same lips that Emerson was allowed to kiss a short while ago and he feels his heart literally skip a beat. 

“I’d like that as well.” 

It hurts his cheeks but he simply can’t not smile madly right now. He feels the blush the moment Jo sees it, but thankfully he doesn’t say anything – instead he chuckles softly and starts the car, a smile forming on his lips. 

*

Jo can’t believe how alert and down-to-earth he feels. 

They have spread out to cover more ground and he is leaning on a bar table in the grand foyer of the event location, giving every man passing him by a once over. 

His head is wonderfully clear and he can’t help but think: He did this. Emerson did this.

Emerson came after him, tried to stop him and succeeded. Jo has never been kissed like that before, the memory alone leaves him breathless. 

And there’s more to come, Jo reminds himself, and perhaps it is the promise of an actually date that has sharpened his wits. 

They still need to find their suspect and hopefully arrest him before he can take Emerson out, so Jo trains his eyes on the next man walking by. 

*

The pageant passes without interruptions. All girls are accounted for, no one is missing, none other than the three victims have withdrawn. 

Emerson is manning an exit during the entire show and if nothing happens soon, he will die of boredom before he has a chance to go on a first date with Jo. 

*

The event ends and everybody starts filling out of the hall into the foyer but they have people at every possible exit. 

Half an hour later, the guests are still drinking and talking but the first contestants begin to leave, mostly with their mothers. Emerson has clear view of the door and dismisses the three men who guide their child outside after a quick once over. 

Then, a girl with long, blonde curls heads for the door with a tall, slightly over-weight man who fits their profile of the suspect. The face looks familiar, though Emerson can’t quite place it. He steps closer, out of sight of both the girl and the man and just about catches the girl asking, “Why are they waiting outside?”

He knows he can’t call on every officer now, he needs more evidence since if he’s wrong, they would miss he real killer. So he follows them out the door at a safe distance, keeping to the shadows outside. 

Then the man turns his head towards the little girl and with a jolt of realisation, Emerson sees it’s not one of the guests, it’s a security guard. That’s why the face was familiar, he saw the man standing in the foyer before the pageant and he doubts any guard would only do half an event on duty. 

By now, however, Emerson can’t contact his colleagues via radio without the suspect hearing him. He goes with his instincts. 

“Sir, excuse me, could I bum a cigarette?” 

“Sorry, I don’t smoke,” the man snaps after brief hesitation. 

“Pity. Better for your little one, though. Hey there, aren’t you a pretty princess!”

“Thank you,” the girls coos and grins. 

“You know, you have a great Daddy, he doesn’t smoke like I do.”

“He’s not my Dad,” she says defiantly. 

“So where are your parents?” 

The man tenses and shifts his weight - Emerson readies himself for what is to come. 

“I don’t know. He said they’re waiting outside but I don’t see them.”   
Emerson looks at the man whose face remains a stony mask. “Sir, could I see some ID?”

The second he says ID, the man starts running. 

“Stay right here, alright?” Emerson orders the girl as softly as he can and starts sprinting after the man, activating his radio at the same time to alert the rest that he is pursuing the suspect. 

He is incredibly relieved that Jo asked for back-up since the moment the suspect rounds the corner, he collides with a fellow officer. 

“Raise your hands or I will shoot!” Emerson hears a female voice say before he catches up with the man who in that moment tries to turn around and almost collides with Emerson. 

“Raise your hands above your head,” the officer repeats. 

The suspect’s eyes dart from left to right but fail to see an escape route and Emerson is almost disappointed when he raises his arms – he’d have loved to see the woman shoot the bastard. 

Jo, Miles, Riley and Mansell join them moments later. Emerson quickly explains what happened, then rushes back to look for the girl. 

She stayed exactly where he left her. 

“Are you alright?” She nods. “Do you want to go inside and look for your parents?”

Another nod and a small hand takes hold of his as he walks back towards the event location. 

The door opens before they reach it, revealing two frantic-looking women. When they see the girl, one of them shouts “Jamie!” and the girl lets go of his hand and darts forward. 

“Where did you find her?”

“Mrs, I’m DC Emerson Kent. I followed your daughter and a man outside because he matched the description of a suspected killer.” Both women gasp in unison. “We were able to apprehend the suspect before anything could happen to your girl, though.”

After a crushing hug he takes their contact information and asks them to wait so they can take theirs and Jamie’s statements.

*

At the end of the day they are able to charge the security guard with rape, murder and attempted murder in four cases, yet they all doubt he will ever see the inside of a prison. From what Riley and Mansell tell him, the guy seems to be absolutely mental. 

By the time they finish their reports it’s way past midnight but the next day is Saturday so nobody cares much. Emerson takes his time, careful to let everyone else pack up and go home before him. 

Finally finished, he knocks on Jo’s door, still confident from earlier success. 

“Come in.”

Jo is still writing his own report but stops the moment he sees who it is. 

“My report’s finished, sir,” Emerson says as he casually leans against the door frame.

Jo nods. “Good.”

“And about that dinner,” he begins, suddenly nervous after all, “would you prefer tomorrow or Sunday?”

Jo’s face lights up as if he hadn’t thought Emerson would actually go through with it. “Shall I pick you up at six tomorrow?”

Something flutters in his chest when he nods. “That would be lovely.” 

“See you tomorrow, then?”

“Good night.”

*

“I’m so excited!”

“It’s not even your date, Sharon…”

“I know, Val, but still! After all this time it’s finally happening!”

“Sharon, you’re making him more nervous than he already is.”

“Then why don’t you get in here and help him pick out an outfit, Colin?”

“Yeah, right, ‘cause I know what looks good on a bloke.”

“I’ll second that.”

“Oh, shut up…”

Emerson tries to close his eyes, though when he opens them, his flatmates are all still there. It’s half past five and he still has no idea what to wear. 

“Do you know where he’ll take you?”   
“I told you, to dinner.”

“Can you be a bit more specific? Is it a wine-him-and-dine-him five star restaurant or just the Thai place around the corner?” Sharon puts her hands on her hip and glares for good measure.

“No idea!”

“Wait,” Val cuts in, “you said his suits are tailored. So he has money!”

“Right!” Sharon agrees. “He will go all out on his first date. Which means you need to wear your best suit.”

“Oh, the three-piece!” 

“But that’s Jo’s thing, I don’t want to look like I’m copying him-“

“-‘cause you obviously ain’t, right?” Colin sniggers from where he’s leaning against the door. 

“He has a point, though….” Sharon looks from Emerson to his closet and back again. Eventually, she takes his most expensive charcoal suit sans vest and the purple shirt Val gave him last Christmas. “No tie, you’re on a date, not in the office.”

“A bit of privacy?” he asks, yet he knows it’s in vain. They watch him change, then pull him out of the room and drag him to the bathroom. 

“My hair is fine-“

“Bollocks, you need product. A lot hinges on this evening, Emerson!”

“Oh, full name, mate,” Colin comments and Emerson throws one of the girls’ brushes at him. 

Yet when he looks at his reflection at ten to six, he has to admit that the girls did a great job. It’s not that he can’t dress himself, he’s a gay man after all and there are certain talents he shares with the stereotype. But it’s nice that his friends care so much for his happy ending. 

Not that there will be one today in that sense of the word, he doesn’t expect it. Emerson hopes for kissing, though – lots and lots of kissing. 

He washes his hands and joins the others in the kitchen. 

“Should I wait downstairs?”

“Don’t you dare! He has to ring the bell and I will answer!” Sharon raises a finger. “No, that’s an order.”

“But he’s my date!”

“And you’re our friend,” Val mitigates. “We just want to make sure he doesn’t look like a serial killer.”

“You’ve seen him in the papers, he’s a bloody DI! Definitely not a serial killer!”

The bell rings and Emerson’s pulse quickens. 

“And he’s early. Nice.” With that, Sharon exits the kitchen, Emerson at his heels. 

Sharon reaches the door before he does, though, so he holds his distance as she opens it to reveal Jo in his three-piece-suit glory, holding a single flower. 

“Hello, I’m Jo,” he introduces himself. “I’m here to pick up Emerson.”

To actually hear the DI say these words aloud makes a shiver run down Emerson’s spine. 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Sharon.” They shake hands. “I hope for your sake that the magnolia’s for him.”

“Of course,” Jo explains, and Emerson decides he has to stop Sharon right there before she does anything to jeopardise his chances with Jo. 

“Hello,” he greets the detective who looks as nervous as Emerson feels. 

“Hi.” Jo smiles tentatively and holds out the beautiful white magnolia. “For you.”

He can’t help the blush that creeps across his cheeks. “Thank you, it’s lovely.” 

“Brilliant,” Sharon cuts in, “why don’t you go looking for a vase and we’ll keep Jo company in the kitchen?”

She manhandles him away from the door while a look from her is enough to draw Jo inside. Inwardly, Emerson curses the day they decided to put the one vase they own on top of that one cupboard in their living room no one can reach without a chair – and then it will still take a few minutes to find the bloody thing inside the storage box. 

When he returns, triumphantly, with the vase, the kitchen reminds him more of the interrogation room at the station, with everyone forming a half circle around his date. 

“Guys, could you please give him some peace, this looks like an interrogation!” he chides and the others immediately evade his eyes. 

Sharon takes the vase off him. “Alright, alright, leave that to me. You go and enjoy your date!” 

Emerson doesn’t have to be told twice. He smiles brightly at Jo who follows him out of the kitchen and into the hallway where he puts on his jacket and together, they descend the stairs. 

“I’m really sorry about my roommates,” he starts, “I hope they didn’t say anything too embarrassing…”

“Not at all.” Jo holds the door open for him and leads him to his car on the right. “You’re lucky to have friends who care about you like they do.”

Emerson is suddenly very horrified. “They didn’t give you the ‘If you hurt him, we’ll kill you’ speech, did they?”

Jo merely smiles indulgently and opens the door of his jeep. Later Emerson will realise what a nice gesture that was, but now, all he can do is be embarrassed when Jo confirms his suspicions. 

“They promised that if I hurt you or wronged you, they’d ‘end me’ in such a way that not even Sherlock Holmes would be able to find my remains.”

He laughs and Emerson finds himself laughing along, for it’s such a Valerie thing to say it’s actually comical. 

Jo goes around the Landrover, gets in and starts the car. 

“To change the topic to less life-threatening matters,” Emerson supplies, “where are you taking me?”

“L’Etalier.” It doesn’t sound familiar, so Emerson raises a questioning eyebrow. “It’s nice, I know it.”

“Your regular restaurant?”

Jo thinks about it for a second, then, “One could say that. Well, a friend of the family used to take me there quite often.”

When they reach the restaurant in Covent Garden, Emerson immediately infers that Jo had to be talking about Commander Anderson. The place looks actually quite expensive, there’s even a red carpet leading to the front door, which Jo holds open for him and Emerson feels a wave of affection for his DI.

“Jo, hello,” the receptionist greets him. Emerson smirks as if to say “Yes, you are a regular”, causing Jo to chuckle. 

“Hello Cindy.”

“If you two would follow me?”

The receptionist leads the way into the main area. The restaurant is busy, men in suits and women in cocktail dresses are everywhere, enjoying beautifully arranged foods and drinking probably quite expensive wine. 

Emerson hopes frantically that Jo is paying. 

Jo seems to have great connections, for their table is in a corner further into the restaurant, guaranteeing a pleasant degree of privacy. A waiter – where did he come from? – pulls Jo’s chair out for him, while Cindy does the same for Emerson. 

“Enjoy your evening,” the woman says and heads back to the entrance area. 

“Good evening, gentlemen, I’m Maurice and I’ll be your waiter tonight. Can I offer you something to drink?”

Jo immediately orders some kind of wine Emerson would have trouble spelling let alone pronounce, so he smiles and orders “the same.” Jo smiles knowingly. 

“What? I trust your judgment when it comes to beverages I can’t pronounce.”

They share a laugh and start a conversation easily: Jo tells how his uncle once mispronounced a wine and received a completely different one, which leads Emerson to expand on Valerie’s failures of epic proportion in her quest for the best, cheapest wine in a box, which leads to Colin-and-his-vodka stories which are interrupted by Maurice taking their dinner orders. 

Emerson decides on chicken with a fancy name, Jo orders fish which, according to Maurice who offered his opinion without being prompted to, suits their wine choice perfectly. 

Emerson is still sniggering when the waiter retreats. 

All day he had been incredibly nervous about the date that night, but as it turns out Jo and he get along perfectly – there are no awkward silences, no glances at the clock. Instead they laugh a great deal, mostly at the expense of Val, Sharon and Colin, sometimes even Miles and his daughter, until their food arrives, which is delicious. It rather be, Emerson muses, for there were no prices on the menu. 

They eat in silence for a moment until Jo looks up and smiles.

“What?” Does he have something on his chin?

“It’s just…. I thought this would be harder,” the man admits. “I mean, it’s been… a long time since I’ve actually been on a date. I remember it being less interesting.”

“Then you’ve been dating the wrong people.” Emerson winks, which sends Jo into an actual laughing fit. 

“I’m beginning to feel you could be right.”

Emerson smiles and focuses on his food before he turns as red as the tomatoes on his plate. 

After dinner they share desert – because Maurice assured them “it’s really delicious tonight” – and the conversation changes: Jo’s begins to give away more about himself, his past, tells stories about university, his years at the Home Office prior to his time with their team and things he can remember doing with his father. 

The fact that Jo is able to relax and open up like that around him is more thrilling than Emerson would have ever imagined. 

“He never talked to me much about being a policeman, but I remember how proud he was when he put on the uniform. It’s the first thought I can remember having – that I wanted to be as proud of what I was doing as my father and that I wanted to make him proud.”

“He would have been,” Emerson says immediately. 

“I don’t know…”

“Jo, you’re a brilliant detective, a brilliant DI, you saved so many lives. I can’t imagine what more he could wish for.”

When Jo meets his eyes, his look is pained. “He always wanted to see me in the Home Office. He made Anderson promise to get me a chair at the table.”

“But?”

“But then the Ripper escaped.”

“But you spectacularly solved the Kray case, why didn’t he offer you a place then?”

At that, the pained expression turns into a sheepish smile. “He did. I declined.”

“Why?”

“I liked getting my hands dirty, well, not literally dirty, but doing actual work in the field. Working with all of you, working with Ed. My uncle didn’t understand. Still doesn’t.”

“Well, I for one am glad you stayed.”

They share a meaningful look. Emerson notes that there is a Moment happening between them like he always sees in the movies. 

“So, Emerson, what about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sure you have plans? Promotion, becoming a DI yourself one day?”

Emerson shrugs. “Perhaps, some day. At the moment I’m happy right where I am.” Jo doesn’t look convinced. “I’m being honest! I love the thrill of the chase, running after suspects, working through nights to catch a murderer. It’s quite exciting.”

“Alright, I believe you,” Jo acquiesces with a laugh. 

The music playing faintly changes and Jo looks up to the loudspeakers in the ceiling with a smile. 

“What kind of music do you like?” he asks, and it’s such a clichéd date-question that it should be sappy but Emerson finds he doesn’t care. 

“Mostly I listen to rock, indie, that sort of thing. But I hardly ever have time, so…” he drifts off. “What about you?”

“I own a lot of Jazz.” Emerson can’t help but laugh because he so knew that. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing, I just… Every time I wondered what you’d listen to, I always pictured you listening to Jazz.”

The sweetest of blushes appears on Jo’s cheeks. “You’ve been thinking about what kind of music I listen to?”

He splutters, but only for a second, realising he can finally ask anything he wanted to know. 

“What’s your favourite colour?” He smirks at Jo’s incredulous expression. “I’m serious. It’s been bugging me.”

“Alright… I don’t have a favourite colour, but I like various shades of beige and brown. Yours?”

“Purple.”

Jo glances down to his shirt and they both laugh. 

“Favourite movie?”

“I don’t know… Anything with Denzel Washington.”

“That counts.”

“Yours?”

“He’s just not that into you.”

“Pardon?” 

“No, that’s the title.” When Jo doesn’t say anything, Emerson dives into the movie’s plot, which actors are in it and why everyone should see the movie while Jo chuckles. “That includes you, Jo!”

Jo is a sight for sore eyes with his cheeks flushed from laughter. He draws in a deep breath and nods. “If you insist. But we’re watching at my place, I have a great flat screen that I hardly ever use.”

Emerson, watching a rom-com in Jo’s apartment? He better fix a date before the DI thinks the better of it. “How about tomorrow?”

Jo, who was just sipping from his wine, coughs. “I was going to invite you to a gallery opening tomorrow. My uncle made me promise to come and I was thinking, with you there, it might actually be enjoyable.”

Emerson’s heart flutters in his chest. “I’d love to come! But I’m sure that event won’t take forever.”   
“It starts at five.” 

“Well, how about we attend this opening, leave around seven thirty, and watch the movie then?”

“Sounds nice.”

Still, Emerson has a feeling that Jo’s not completely happy about being alone in his apartment with him. It would probably be for the best if he laid Jo’s worries to rest, if he can actually find the courage to mention it. 

Emerson takes a generous sip from his glass. “But no worries. I won’t do anything without your explicit permission.” He raises his glass and empties it to buy more time to will away the colour in his cheeks.

When he meets Jo’s eyes again, they’re soft and serious and Emerson knows it was the right thing to say. 

“Thank you.”

*

After Jo pays – which earns him a smile that’s only half gratitude but also half relief – they decide to walk for a bit. 

The night is clear and pleasant around them as they’re talking about this and that, circling around the restaurant and ending up right next to Jo’s car. 

Emerson aims for the passenger seat, counting on Jo following him, which he does. Emerson, however, turns and leans his back against the car door, smiling up at Jo. 

“I had a great time,” he says as Jo takes a tentative step forward, almost into his personal space. 

“Me, too.” He smiles but Emerson can see the nervousness in the way his shoulders are set. 

So, with a sure hand, he takes hold of Jo’s tie just below the knot and slowly pulls, giving Jo every opportunity to stop the movement. He doesn’t, though – Jo closes the distance and his torso follows the pull of Emerson’s hand until their lips meet and Emerson closes his eyes. 

It’s so different from their first kiss. It’s not the end of an act of desperation on Emerson’s part, it’s a mutual endeavour from the beginning this time. Jo kisses him luxuriously at first, slowly and deliberately, until he moans into Jo’s mouth and Jo steps even closer, pushing his body flush against Emerson’s. 

He feels Jo’s right hand on his waist while the left is at the nape of his neck, a firm pressure just like Jo’s tongue against his own. Emerson’s hands are on Jo’s chest, one still holding onto the tie as he melts against Jo, letting him dominate the kiss. 

Emerson shifts and suddenly feels something hard against his hip and he pushes his hips forward. The friction makes Jo moan, deep and guttural and incredibly sexy, and he has to break the kiss to shudder against Emerson’s body. 

“If we don’t stop soon, I won’t be able to.” Jo’s voice is raw, a sound that goes straight to Emerson’s cock as the man rests his head on his shoulder. 

He tilts his head slightly so his lips are near Jo’s ear. “Yes, sir,” he whispers and feels Jo twitch underneath the fabric of his pants. 

Jo releases a groan, draws back for a second and then crushes their mouths together. The kiss is vicious, all teeth and tongue, and it leaves Emerson breathless, begging for more. 

Of course that is the point when someone unlocks a car in their vicinity. The noise jolts them back to reality and Emerson wishes he could capture Jo’s look of raw arousal forever in his mind as the DI steps away and unlocks the car. 

They drive in silence, each stealing glances at the other and smiling when they catch each other looking. 

Jo parks near Emerson’s building and is out of the car within seconds. It takes him a moment to realise that Jo is actually going to open the passenger door for him. 

“I didn’t know anyone does that anymore,” he only half jokes. 

Jo looks down at the pavement awkwardly. “I know, Miles keeps reminding me this isn’t Jane Austin.”

“Don’t worry, it suits you.” Emerson means it. At first, he found it disconcerting – now, however, it makes him feel rather special. 

This time it’s Jo who leans in for a kiss. It’s soft, gentle, both of them trying to hold back but it’s no use. After all this time, Emerson’s discipline is lacking somewhat, which is why he steps as close as possible, both arms around Jo’s neck as he aligns their bodies. 

“You’re evil,” Jo murmurs against his lips. 

“You have no idea, sir” Emerson’s voice is low as he bites Jo’s bottom lip. 

The older man positively growls and the sound immediately makes the top of Emerson’s favourite things in the entire universe. Jo’s thigh finds its way between Emerson’s legs and the decisiveness of the action alone makes him fully hard. 

He releases a long breath and tips his head back in pleasure while Jo moves onto his throat, kissing and sucking and right now, Emerson doesn’t even care if Jo leaves marks for everyone to see. 

He rolls his hips and teeth sink into his skin as Jo tries to stifle a moan. If they continue like this for longer, Emerson will come in his pants like a hormonal teenager… 

He blinks and a light catches his attention. 

“Jo,” he breathes heavily. There’s a “hm”-like response from the region of his collar bone. “I fear my roommates are watching from our window.”

Instead of stopping, Jo straightens and devours his mouth again. When they pull apart, Emerson’s legs feel like jelly.

“I’m not ashamed of wanting you,” Jo whispers. Emerson whimpers. 

The DI steps back and simply looks for a moment. Emerson can only assume how he looks – flushed, aroused, wanton – but Jo likes what he sees. 

“I’ll pick you up at five thirty?”

“Lovely.” 

They share one last smile before Emerson enters his building. He faintly hears the car drive off as he’s trying to make his erection go away. 

As expected, his roommates are on him the second he enters the flat. 

“How was it?”

“That’s not PG, lad!”

“Where did he take you?”

“Let me breathe first, alright?” They follow him into the kitchen where he switches the kettle on. “It was amazing. We talked, we laughed, I finally know what kind of music he likes and he is an amazing kisser.”

“Mate, I always thought you said he was shy! That wasn’t shy…”

“Well, that’s because Emerson looked like a dish tonight, Colin,” Sharon chided.

“So where did he take you?” Val asked. 

“L’Etalier?”

“What?” Sharon’s eyes were wide. “How did he get a table at such short notice?”

“He’s a regular, as far as I could gather.”

“Did he pay?”

“Thankfully!” The girls giggled. 

“So lad, what’s the plan?”

“He’s taking me to a gallery opening tomorrow-“

“Ohhhh, high-society is calling!”

“-and afterwards we’re watching a movie at his place.” Predictably, his friends cooed collectively. “And no, we’re taking it slow. Seriously, I’m quite fine with kissing.”

Sharon raises an eyebrow. “What you mean to say is: If he wants me to, I’ll be on my knees in two seconds?”

“Shut up….” Emerson brews the tea, unable to stop blushing. 

“But seriously, Em, what’s your feeling about this?” 

He considers them for a moment, wording his answer. “You don’t know how he is at the station… He’s a brilliant detective, but with his OCD and all, he never lets anyone come close. And tonight, he completely opened up, he even told me about his father. He died when Jo was six,” Emerson ads. “And just now, when I saw you bloody idiots watching! He, well, he said that he wasn’t ashamed of wanting me.”

Looking back at him, they are all sporting similar expressions of endearment. 

Val is the first to move; she pulls him into a tight hug and Sharon joins in seconds later. 

“We’re so happy for you!”

And later, when he is lying in bed, Emerson has to admit that he is, too. 

*

Like Jo predicted, the gallery opening is dull, especially since neither he nor Jo have that much interest in art. 

However, when Jo tenses as he spots a man whom Emerson recognises as Commander Anderson, the evening becomes exciting all of a sudden. 

What is he supposed to do? How would Jo explain that he’s here with Emerson?

“Should I hide?” he suggests. 

Jo turns abruptly, eyes confused. “Why?”

“Your uncle?”

Realisation dawns but the DI merely smiles fondly. “He will not like it but I won’t make you hide on my behalf.”

Emerson is still staring up in awe as he hears the Commander greet Jo. 

“And you brought Mr Kent.” Anderson shakes his hand. “Do you have a passion for art?” His eyes narrow and Emerson fears he’s been caught before he even opened his mouth. 

“Not particularly, sir,” he replies awkwardly. 

“So you’re here, because..?” Anderson looks questioningly at Jo. 

“Because he’s my date.” Jo’s voice is firm and if one didn’t know him, one could assume he is completely confident. Emerson can see the little signs though, so he interlaces their hands and squeezes, hoping the gesture will reassure Jo. 

The Commander is, in fact, speechless. He manages to produce a half-hearted “Enjoy the show,” and they flee as fast as they can. 

“Are you in trouble?” 

Jo tries to belittle it with a shrug. “He’s going to talk to me about it, don’t you worry.”

“But I do, I mean, he’s your uncle, his opinion probably matters, doesn’t it?” Emerson thinks of his dad and how the disapproving looks he sends his non-world-class-surgeon son still hurt. 

Jo sighs. “It’s not that you’re a man. He’s going to lecture me because you’re my DC.”

“I could always-“ Emerson begins but his DI interrupts him within a second. 

“No, there’s no need. We’re not doing anything illegal.”

So Emerson’s fear about the “Do I have to transfer now we’re dating” conversation just evaporated, much to his delight. 

The issue with the Commander, however, doesn’t go away that quickly. When Emerson returns from the restroom, he spots Jo whispering with his uncle. The latter doesn’t look happy in the slightest. 

He manages to approach without being noticed. 

“- you know that this could jeopardise your career beyond repair, Jo-“

“I’m not abusing my position, it’s perfectly legal-“

“- on paper, yes. But you know how people talk, you can forget all ambitions about Home Office when this gets public-“

“- I don’t care-“

“-how can you not care? Your father-“ What Jo’s father would or wouldn’t have, however, Emerson never learns, for that’s the moment Anderson spots him. “This conversation is not over,” he whispers so Emerson can barely hear before he disappears into the crowd. 

He can’t help but worry if his presence in Jo’s life does more harm than good and his thoughts must have shown on his face.  
 “Don’t listen to him. My father would have wanted me to be happy, even if my uncle can’t imagine that anyone can be happy only being a DI.”

“Jo, I don’t want to damage-“

“You’re not.” And Jo’s eyes are so sincere that Emerson finds himself believing every word. Jo opens his mouth but closes it again, drawing a deep breath. “I…” He hesitates. “Yesterday I went to bed with a smile on my lips for the first time in years. No position in the Home Office can measure up to that.”

Emerson can’t help it – he has to kiss Jo right now or he will die. So he does. 

*

The Chinese take-out from the really expensive place near Jo’s apartment was the DI’s idea. 

When Jo left the buffet at the opening untouched, Emerson wondered why but did the same. 

“You know, there was food at the gallery,” he asks when they exit the car, Emerson carrying hot, delicious-smelling boxes. 

Jo freezes for a moment before he explains. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I have a problem with food if I don’t know who prepared it or how it was prepared.” 

“And Hang Long’s passed the test?”

Jo blushes. “Yes, I was there about an inquiry once and saw their kitchen.”

“Well, if they cook as good as they clean, I’m not complaining.”

He hears Jo’s relieved laughter while he retrieves the DVD from the back seat. He turns and finally looks at the building Jo is living in. Silent awe probably describes his reaction best.

Suffice it to say: The building has a door man. Who greets Jo with a cheerful smile and Emerson with a smirk but other than that doesn’t interact with them. 

The elevator takes them up to the fourth floor and across a hallway there is a door which leads Emerson right into Jo’s apartment. 

Somehow, he still can’t believe he’s standing there with take-out and a rom-com. 

There’s a small foyer, but it’s open towards the rest of the flat. On the left, Emerson sees a respectably sized kitchen, while on his right a flat screen and comfortable sofas and chairs constitute the living room. The right wall is made out of what appear to be white glass tiles that leave space instead of a door between the wall next to Emerson. He can only assume it’s the bed room. 

Everything is spotlessly clean. There aren’t many personal things around, still the space is so incredibly Jo with all the beige and brown colours and the parquet flooring. The kitchen has a few red highlights and when he explores the room further, Emerson spots an old-fashioned record player in front of a cabinet filled with records next to a large book-shelf. 

“My shoes?” he asks when he becomes aware he’s staring. 

Jo points him to a shoe cabinet and a doormat while he takes the food off of him. 

Jo distributes the take-out on plates, puts the empty boxes into the bin immediately, and carries the food to the coffee table. Emerson, meanwhile, pours them both a glass of water and Jo provides a bottle of red wine. 

They settle on the sofa next to each other and Jo works the DVD player. 

*

They’ve drifted closer on the sofa since they cleaned up the dishes and paused the movie. There’s no touching even if Emerson desperately wished there was, but it’s obvious that Jo doesn’t watch TV in company very often. 

Besides, Emerson promised, so he tries to focus solely on the movie and to forget all about Jo’s warm body a few inches away. 

*

Emerson manages not to cry at the end, although it takes a lot of effort. When the credits roll, he glances at Jo, who is actually smiling. 

Emerson rises and goes to retrieve the DVD from the player. “And? Do I get to choose the movie more often or am I banned forever?”

Jo laughs softly. “No, it was quite amusing. Good choice.”

Emerson lays the DVD on the table, pours himself more wine and takes a sip. He sees Jo’s hand twitch before the man leans forward and adjusts the DVD on the table so its edges are parallel to the table lines. 

“Sorry,” Jo mumbles, refusing to meet his eyes. 

Emerson puts his glass on the coaster, stepping in front of Jo. “Hey,” he says softly as he leans forward. His right hand tips Jo’s chin up gently and his blue eyes are vulnerable and open when they meet his. “You don’t need to apologise for that.”

He brushes his lips against Jo‘s in a feather-light touch, then puts more pressure behind the kiss until Jo’s lips part and he accepts Emerson’s tongue. The kiss deepens, grows more intense and Emerson daringly shuffles forward until his knees hit the sofa and Jo’s legs are between his. 

Jo’s hands come up to cup his face and it’s all the encouragement Emerson needs, so he lowers himself into Jo’s lap, straddling him, as their kisses turn frantic. 

Emerson’s hands wanders down to Jo’s chest, feeling the strong muscles moving underneath the fabric of his shirt. He yearns to take it off, to make Jo lose his composure, to bring him pleasure beyond imagination. His hands glide down Jo’s torso on both sides and he feels the man shiver under his touch, breath hitching. 

Emerson rolls his hips, slowly and deliberately, catching Jo’s moan with his mouth on his. His fingers find their way to the shirt buttons over Jo’s stomach and dip between the fabric to meet hot, bare skin. 

Jo sucks in a sharp breath and he draws back immediately, and Emerson fears he just crossed a line he shouldn’t have. 

“Em,” Jo breathes against his lips, eyes still closed. “I… It’s been a very long time since I’ve done any of… of this. I’m not sure if I- how far I-“

“Shhhh,” he replies, brushing a finger against Jo’s lips. “We’ll go very slowly,” he whispers in Jo’s right ear and places a kiss on his jaw line. “I’d like to start by sucking you off.”

Even through two layers of pants he can feel Jo’s cock twitch against his. 

Emerson licks a path from Jo’s jaw line down his neck to the collar bone which has been teasing him ever since Jo removed his tie after the meal. 

“Would you like that, sir?” he murmurs against Jo’s skin. 

Jo’s head falls back onto the sofa with a moan. “God, yes.”

The second the words leave his mouth, Emerson’s fingers unbutton the waistcoat, then begin to open the shirt. His mouth follows the movement, mapping as much of Jo’s skin he can reach without pulling the shirt off of him completely. When Emerson glides to the floor, his hands stroke the inside of Jo’s thighs. 

He can feel the muscles tense underneath his touch, but they relax a second later. Fingers brush over Jo’s erection that’s straining against the dress pants and Jo’s hips jerk satisfyingly. 

Emerson makes quick work of the fly and pulls at the pants until Jo raises his hips. He exposes a pair of dark briefs, clearly showing the outlines of Jo’s cock. There’s a spot where the precome wet the fabric and Emerson leans forward, mouthing the head through the briefs. 

Jo moans and his muscles start trembling. Emerson looks up and meets Jo’s blue eyes, pupils dilated, mouth hanging open, cheeks obscenely flushed. 

He smirks as he dips his fingers under the waistband, his eyes never leaving Jo’s as he exposes his erection. Emerson’s hands push Jo’s knees apart gently and, still looking up, he licks a wet path from the shaft to the head, tasting the bitter fluid. 

Jo’s eyelids flutter but he seems determined to watch, so Emerson gives him a show; he grips the shaft tight with his right hand and mouths at the head, tongue and breath ghosting over pink skin until Jo rewards him with a full-body shiver. Emerson lowers his mouth and takes Jo as deep as he can, building a slow, agonising rhythm. 

Jo groans loudly when Emerson takes him as deep as possible and swallows around his cock, so he repeats it again and again until he needs to come up for air and the man underneath him whimpers in frustration. 

Emerson looks up and finds that Jo is no longer watching, his head is thrown back and first drops of sweat are shining on his chest. He grips the shaft tighter and moves on to Jo’s balls. He sucks both into his mouth, using his tongue to massage them and the sounds Jo makes are so obscenely sweet that he can’t hold back any longer, he has to open his own pants and free his almost painful erection. 

He’s back on Jo’s cock, increasing his rhythm and matching it with his own strokes. Jo’s breath is coming in short gasps and his hand finds its way into Emerson’s hair. 

“Em, I’m,” Jo moans as Emerson sucks hard, “God, I’m close!”

He merely hums around Jo’s cock and the hand grips tighter, trying to warn him, but Emerson is anticipating it, eager for it, so he takes Jo deeper still, swallows once, twice and Jo releases a guttural groan as he comes down Emerson’s throat. 

He licks and sucks as long as he dares, collecting every last drop. When he looks up, he sees Jo’s watching him, watching him stroke himself still. The sight of Jo, suit open, pants around his ankles, hair ruffled and cheeks flushed make Emerson shiver. 

He sits back on his heels, wanting to give Jo another show, but he’s too far gone – a few strokes and he spills all over his shirt because yes, he is still half-dressed. 

He climbs up onto the sofa and rests his head next to Jo’s. There’s a faint smile forming on Jo’s lips as he watches Emerson whose smile is so wide it almost hurts. It’s Jo who moves first, lips meeting his in a soft kiss. 

The sit there for a while, breathing each other’s air until the shirt begins to stick uncomfortably to his torso.

“You don’t happen to have anything I can borrow for the way home, do you?” 

Jo laughs. “Of course.” He shifts on the sofa and pulls up his underwear and trousers while Emerson mirrors him. 

Jo tilts his head to indicate he should follow and the DI leads him past the wall of glass tiles into a spacious bedroom, as spotlessly clean as the rest of the apartment. 

“You have a TV next to the bed?” Emerson asks while Jo is opening one of the doors to his wardrobe. Even in there, everything is perfectly folded, nothing is simply thrown in. “So we could have watched the movie here, too?”

“This one doesn’t have a DVD player,” Jo explains. “Besides, the other one is bigger.”

Emerson raises an eyebrow and walks over to the detective. “Bigger?”

Jo huffs and holds out what looks like a t-shirt instead of answering. “Here.”

Emerson unfolds it and to his utter surprise, it truly is a t-shirt. It’s a plain dark brown, but still. 

“So you actually do own a t-shirt!” 

At this, Jo laughs out loud. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I was beginning to think all you had were white shirts.”

“You were obviously mistaken.” 

Jo’s smile is so carefree and happy, it takes Emerson’s breath way for a moment. 

He lays the shirt down on the bed and opens the buttons of his shirt. When he catches Jo’s eyes watching him, he slows his movements, smirking up at the man. 

“Like what you see?”

“Very much.” 

Emerson is glad that Jo is looking him directly in the eyes so the DI doesn’t see his hands tremble as they open the last button. He deftly pushes the shirt over his shoulders and slips out of the sleeves, folding it so the wet spot doesn’t come in contact with the sheets as he lays it onto the bed and takes the t-shirt instead. 

He still blushes when Jo’s eyes map his chest, this time without hurry, without secrecy and Emerson lets him look for a long moment before he pulls on the shirt. It’s a little long for him, too large, but it smells freshly washed and also like Jo and Emerson decides he will sleep in it tonight. Jo doesn’t need to know, he’ll have it dry cleaned. 

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.” 

It takes him by surprise that Jo doesn’t want to shower first, but he takes that as a good sign. 

Minutes later, they’re in the car. Thankfully, the doorman didn’t look up when they passed, though Emerson has a theory that the man was merely pretending to read that magazine. 

“Jo,” Emerson starts when they’re both inside and Jo is driving, “what about tomorrow?” Jo glances in his direction. “I mean, I know that I’m probably not allowed to, I don’t know, kiss you, but… I’m not sure I can’t pretend that this weekend didn’t happen.”

His DI nods, eyes focused on the road. “I don’t think I could either. Let’s just try not to be too obvious?”

“In a room full of detectives?”

Jo chuckles. “You’re probably right.”

“I mean, Miles at least will know something has happened.”

“Yes, but he won’t say anything.”

“What if Meg or Finlay notice anything and ask? Or joke?” 

They stop at a red light and Jo turns his head towards him. “I meant it. I don’t want to hide this, I’m not ashamed.”

“Alright.” They hold each other’s gazes for a moment, then the light changes and Jo’s attention belongs to the street again. 

Emerson still feels light-headed when they pull up at his apartment and the good-night kiss leaves him breathless. 

He can’t stop smiling all the way up to his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my way of resolving the sexual tension - I surely did! Remember that kudos and comments make me happy :)
> 
> I‘m sorry to say that I‘m officially on hiatus now. I have ideas for further chapters; buuuut my Muse has other priorities right now. I felt okay to leave it at that, after they finally got together, so I don't leave anyone hanging.


End file.
